Sole Memorial
by DurantExeggcute
Summary: Flik has been a part of P.T. Flea's Circus for all five years of his memory. As a result of a curse, all that remains of his original self is the basic framework of a soul that keeps him alive. He loves his very strange family, smothering as some can be, but he longs to know what once filled the gaps in his heart and, later, where a Princess fits in it. *Fantasy/Humanized AU*
1. Prologue: Re-

**Author, here. I'd like to thank my sister for her minimal editing of the work, my friend from work for reading the snippets I wrote, and myself for keeping this idea in my head and letting it fester into this jumble of words. Hope you enjoy! Maybe I'll start posting this elsewhere, too.**

 **Disclaimer: Do I look like I created these characters? No? Good, because I didn't. Pixar/Disney owns them.**

* * *

 **Prologue: Re-**

Fading music rode wind to a quiet clearing, a campsite decorated in colorful caravans. From red to black to green and blue, they each reflected the moonlight as gems would any light. Cheery and colorful as the sight was, it wasn't so for the owners of the caravans. Solemnly, a group of nine drifted to the camp, burnt, bruised or simply disgruntled. In the distance behind them stood a magnificent red and white tent, but there was no music nor laughter.

Evidently, they were performers who had just finished a lackluster day. Manto the Magnificent might even call it disastrous, and it was, seeing as he was still picking crushed fruit from his graying hair. He felt his wife, his lovely assistant Gypsy, take his hand and he smiled appreciatively. Her undying support was always welcome, especially after a yet another day as a failure in entertainment.

As the group prepared to part once they passed the first caravan, Gypsy jumped. Everyone looked to her when they noticed her—and Manny's—sudden stop. The feathers in her hair stood upright as she pointed to a motionless mass lying next to the fire pit. "There's someone there!" she whispered, and they all gathered to take a look.

In the light of the full moon which turned the world silver, there was no mistaking the broken boy lying face-up in the middle of their camp. Upon closer inspection, it was clear he wore some rather fine clothes, based solely on their long and flowing shape. He was also strangely clean, aside from the dirt clinging to his outline, and no one could deny he had been placed there rather than dropped or dragged. On the other hand, he was also covered in bruises and scratches, a canvas full of errors.

"Oh, Dim, don't look!" Rosie covered the eyes of the curious rhinoceros, leading him away as quickly as she could. In the quiet of the scene, her six legs made rhythmic taps on the dirt ground.

Next, Francis circled the unconscious teenager, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. "Somebody did a number on this kid." He pushed away two curious small men, Tuck and Roll, both of whom chattered in a language none of them knew, as they got a little too close. "Hey, back off! Give him some space."

When he himself stepped back, Slim stood in his place. He knelt down and then bent his torso even further to get a closer look. The tower of a man raised an eyebrow at the contradiction before him. "Do you think someone dropped him off here?"

"Abandoned?" gasped Gypsy. Her hand tightened its hold on her husband's, and soon she was the one being comforted. "Oh, the poor thing!"

"Vat if his parents are looking for him?" Heimlich asked from the side, shuffling around the others to get a better look.

"Heimlich is right. We cannot assume he doesn't have loved ones out there," Manny acknowledged. Indeed, the boy was dropped there, but anyone could have done it. They had to choose their next actions wisely. "We should look for his family."

Francis crossed his arms, eyes furrowed. "P.T. won't let us take a day off to help some kid, and tomorrow is our last day!"

"Then we must start tonight."

"And if he's not from around here? Or if he doesn't have any family?"

"P.T. will never take him in!" Slim fretted.

"Maybe he won't, but we can," supplied Rosie as she returned. "I'm sure he won't mind so long as he doesn't have to pay." She stood over the boy and drew silk from her fingers to weave into a blanket.

"How's that gonna work? He doesn't even pay _us_ squat!"

"Ssh! He's waking up!"

Everyone backed off once they heard a groan and the teenager's eyelids clenched and fluttered. His breathing then became shallow and heavy, and he put a hand to his heart, a fist balling over it as if to pull it out. When he finally did open his eyes and notice the spectators, his face became fearful and he scrambled to get to his feet. He had only managed to get to his knees when he slipped, too weak to support his frame, and yet he tried to crawl away. The poor thing barely got anywhere, fingers making trails in the dirt as he tried in vain to put some distance between him and the troupe.

"Don't push yourself, honey." Rosie set the unfinished blanket aside and slowly made her way towards him. She stood near him, kneeling down so as to not look so intimidating. When the boy became still, and his breathing slowed to a relatively smooth rhythm, she extended her hand to help him up. "Are you all right? The ground isn't a very comfortable place to sleep."

Hesitant and wary, the young man took the hand and leaned on her. He began to truly relax when it was clear no one would harm him. "I-I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse, evidence that he had once been screaming. "I wasn't being a bother, was I?"

"No, you weren't, don't worry," Gypsy assured, giving a gentle smile. "We were just concerned about you. Do you have family somewhere?" She dared to get close, certain that the lost boy would feel less threatened when approached by women. "We can help you get home, if you'd like."

His face contorted with pain and he gripped the spot over his heart once more. "I… I don't know." While his eyes didn't quite widen, absolute horror and grief began to materialize there. "I don't know anything." With this revelation, he began to hyperventilate again and both hands grabbed at his hair.

"There, there, it'll be okay," Slim tried to comfort him, though awkward in his attempts. He pulled the teenager's hands from his head so he wouldn't hurt himself. "You might merely be in shock. Let's start with something simple, like a name. Surely you remember your name."

Suddenly, the boy had a faraway look in his eyes, and the moonlight soon started reflecting off falling tears. Hurriedly, he tried to wipe them away. "I'm sorry... I don't know what's gotten into me." He tried to laugh it off, but it was so dry, so forced, so _empty_. "I really don't…"

Manny stepped forward and raised his hand. "That is enough, child. Rest now." Floating his hand over the boy's eyes, he cast a spell of sleep. As soon as their souls met, the magician was struck with a horrible sting and he staggered back, cutting off the connection.

"Manny!" Gypsy caught him, and kept him standing. "What's wrong? You look so pale."

Indeed, his eyes had become haunted. He breathed shakily as one would after waking from a nightmare. "Oh, the pain…" Manny closed his eyes to rest at least one of his senses. "The boy has been afflicted with such a terrible curse." He had glimpsed it: a manifestation so wilted, torn, and ragged; floating in the void that was the boy's heart. There was no mistaking what had happened to him. "Dying Memory. What a cruel fate."

"Dying Memory?! But that's—"

"Anysing but zat!"

"Now we really can't leave him alone."

"Is there really nothing left?"

When he had recovered, Manny pulled away from his wife and raised a hand over the unconscious teenager. Thankfully, that one cast had been enough to send him back into slumber. "There may be nothing, but I will search." The magician quivered slightly as he began to reconnect their souls, and he heard the boy's soft breathing become labored as a result.

There was the pain again, but he was ready for it. Soon, he saw a void sprinkled with shattered pieces of a soul. There were no memories among these pieces, nothing outside of the basics of living and possible personality. When the soul comes back together, it would be so small; the boy would be so sickly.

In the deafening silence, there broke a single chime. It worried him how faint, small, and far away it sounded. When it came again a few seconds later, it was even fainter and weaker: a persevering memory on its last legs. There was no way he would be able to reach it before it was gone, but he pushed through regardless for the chance to catch _something_.

The ache that persisted in the void suddenly disappeared as Manny found himself back in the real world. His legs shook as he struggled to stand, and once more he leaned on Gypsy for support. "I found it… just in time. A single name," he breathed, and the others surrounded him to hear what he had to say. "It was so corrupted, but it was there."

"Well, get to it. What's the name?"

"It was..." It took him but a moment to gather his bearings, to recover enough to speak again. "...Flik."


	2. Under Watchful Eyes

**Whew! That took a over a week. Thanks to everyone who decided to read the story and thanks to all three of you who commented! To answer the question from Jay, I guess the whole circus part of this story is inspired by the original treatment. Oddly enough, I only learned about the first draft of _A Bug's Life_ about a month or two ago. Isn't that a hoot?**

 **Disclaimer: Once again, none of these guys are mine. They belong to Disney/Pixar. I kinda hope they show up in Kingdom Hearts 3.**

* * *

 **Under Watchful Eyes**

"Bright" and "warm" were the typical words one would use to describe the summer, and "colorful" would be thrown in for this particular time. Chatter and laughter filled the streets from both adults and children alike as they followed the cobblestone path to a large pasture that served as land for a fair. The fairgrounds were littered with lines of more colorful tents that served as shops, games, even fortune tellers. Here and there were petting farms for the little ones or animal lovers and to the further end there was an empty plot for races or reserved reenactments.

Perhaps the cream of the crop was the circus that had come to town: P.T. Flea's. A proud red and white tent stood right in the center of the fairgrounds and the stars gave previews of the night's acts outside. Rosie had a scaffold set up in order to practice her elaborate silk dancing; Manny was practicing the magic of metamorphosis with Gypsy; Dim led fellow animals around while Tuck and Roll jumped from back to back. They enjoyed cheers and applause from the audience gathered around, and they were eager for more come sundown.

One would think that clowns would be walking around, and they were. They were also calling, not in any comedic manner, but concerned and maybe panicked.

"Flik!"

"Flik, kiddo!"

"Vere are you?"

With his face hidden under a green cap, the missing young man weaved between man, woman, boy, and girl to the edge of the fairgrounds. In his arms was a parcel that he held as dear as a baby, careful to protect it from impact of wall or body. His feet flew from grass to cobblestone as the runner made his way to no direction in particular. As the crowd diminished, he soon found himself in a plaza, complete with a fountain and a full view of the Anterrian castle.

The hum of the water soothed him, a sweet contrast to the varied screams back at the fair and the deafening quiet of the caravans. Flik breathed the smell of fresh bread and sweets from a nearby bakery and took a seat at the fountain. Yes, this was the perfect spot to get to work. He unwrapped his parcel, a small catapult, and began to fiddle with its parts.

His thoughts began to wander, despite his attempts to concentrate on the catapult. By now, it had become routine for him to sneak away from the circus while busy. It wasn't that he disliked being there, but he sometimes needed some wide open and bustling space on his own. The others could be a bit stifling when trying to help him through the effects of his curse: Dying Memory.

Manny had told Flik about it once, and then reminded him a few times. The common knowledge of the spell was that it erased memories, and personal experience told him it left years-long damage on his now-small soul. He hadn't given it much thought for the first few years, but lately he wanted to know why someone cast such a spell on him. He had entertained a few scenarios: maybe he was some sort of master criminal back in the day, or he walked in on a murder scene, or he just insulted a very powerful and petty witch or warlock. Honestly, nothing made sense except that he was sure someone just really hated him.

But enough of that for now. "Let's see… The trigger looks kinda loose." He began fiddling with said trigger, not realizing how close to the catapult arm he had been leaning, when the sling came loose and the cup bore all its force on his poor forehead. "Ow! That smarts!" He set the catapult down next to him and rubbed the sore spot.

"Haha! You're so weird!"

Flik blinked at the new voice and turned to his left, where a lilac-haired child was sitting. She was smiling and laughing at him, but he couldn't find it in himself to be mad at her. Probably because he worked in a circus. "Um…"

The little girl got up and curtsied. "You can call me Dot," she greeted. "What's your name?"

"I'm… Flik."

"What'cha working on?" She reached for and obtained the catapult before Flik could take it and looked it over as best she could. After a few seconds, she quickly put it back, as it was too heavy for her to carry for long.

"It's a catapult. Kinda. I'm still trying to get it to work," the young man explained as he began fiddling with the catapult once more. He tightened the sling and tested the trigger, finding that the catapult just won't launch. "It's a little important."

"Are you gonna use it to hurt people?"

"No! No, it's supposed to throw pies."

"Are you a clown?"

"Well, I guess—"

"That's right!"

"Whoa!" Suddenly, Flik felt hands grab him from behind and he was hung over an seven-foot-high shoulder. Seems like he was found by the guys. His catapult fell to the ground, the impact triggering it to launch itself and hit a feminine and disgruntled face, a very familiar one. "Whoops. Sorry, Francis."

Clearly not accepting the apology, the feminine clown glared right at Flik. "You better be! Rosie would kill us if she—"

"Hey! Leave him alone!" Dot had her arms crossed and her foot was tapping, clearly expecting them to obey. She was either very brave, considering she was facing some strangers, or she just knew they weren't a threat. Seeing the clowns so confused when faced with a little girl was rather funny.

"I'm okay, Dot. They're friends," Flik laughed. "Dot, meet Francis, Slim, and Heimlich. Guys, meet Dot."

"Hey, how're ya doin'?"

"Hello, there."

"Hello!"

"Oh? Then, hi!" Discarding her defensive act, Dot regained her smile. "So, you're clowns from the circus downtown?"

"Ja! You schould come see us sometime." Heimlich handed her a pamphlet. The paper fluttered even in so little wind. "Vee'll be here for zee duration of zee fair!"

"In fact, starting today, we're trying out an improved act. This guy's joining us for the first time." Francis poked Flik's cheek, much to the latter's annoyance. "So long as he stays put, that is."

"You know, I'd love to join this conversation while actually facing everyone. Can I get down now?"

Slim didn't loosen his hold nor make any move to set the young man back onto the ground. "No can do. We can't risk you slipping off again, you know." There was no denying he had a point, much to Flik's chagrin.

"Just put him down," Dot laughed. "By order of—"

"Princess Dot! There you are!" A fancy-robed man accompanied by guards hurried up to Dot. "You had everyone worried sick. How many times have we told you not to wander from the castle?"

"But I'm just outside, Mr. Soil! I can even see Atta's room from here," said the princess, waving to the highest window of said castle. A glint of light flickered back.

"There are far too many ruffians outside the walls. What if you got hurt? Or worse?" The robed man led Dot toward the guards before turning to the clowns. He didn't seem to be fazed that Slim was practically carrying a captive over his shoulder. "I must thank you sirs for watching over our young princess. I hope she was not too bothersome."

"Uh… nope! Sweet as a peach." In the confusion, Flik finally managed to dislodge himself, only to fall unceremoniously to the ground. Once he dusted himself off, he noticed Mr. Soil staring right at him. "Hm?"

"Do I know you?"

Everything went quiet and Flik's eyes went wide. "D-do you really?" For the first time in the five years he had been conscious, he felt hope. "Funny thing is: I don't have any memories beyond five years ago." He began to fidget. Here was someone who probably recognized him, perhaps knew him before he had joined the circus. Maybe he could finally learn about his original self, when he had a full soul. "So, if you do happen to know me, could you possibly fill in some of the blanks?"

He could have sworn there was a flash of recognition, but his hopes were dashed when the man said: "I'm sorry. I suppose I had you confused for someone else," as he turned away. "We shall take our leave now. Good day to you sirs."

"Huh?! B-but—"

" _Good day_." Insistent on returning to the castle, Soil hurried away.

Dot looked back once and called out "Bye, Flik!" before she was covered out of sight by the group of guards.

Flik wasn't sure how long he had stood there after they left, or even how long he had been staring dejectedly at the ground. Maybe he just got worked up way too soon. Lost in thought, he almost didn't feel the hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, let's just get home." Francis gave him a sympathetic pat. "You wanna sit out for today? You can just join us tomorrow." He couldn't say things like "I'm sure you'll remember someday," because it was impossible.

Knowing that was probably the hardest to get used to. "N-no, I'll be fine." Slowly, Flik retrieved his neglected catapult and followed his friends back to the fairgrounds. All the while, one hand clutched his chest, a habit he had developed over the years. He tried to push back all the questions that wanted to flood his mind. At the very least, he should wait to ask Manny.

Passing the fairgrounds and trekking up the hill to the camp, the clowns led Flik to a green and blue caravan. It was one that he shared with Manny and Gypsy (the others would joke that they'd become his parents). Flik unlocked the door, bid a quick farewell to his friends, and entered the tiny residence.

Inside, dark wood was clothed in floral sheets just as blue and green as the caravan's outer shell. There in the back was a bed fitting two, and the hollowed crawl space below the bed served as Flik's own resting place. To the right were drawers for clothes and picture frames followed by a couch for guests; to the left was a much smaller cushioned bench followed by an antique cabinet. All in all, it was a tight fit, but it was home.

But he didn't come to admire the interior. It was the large wooden box lying right on the floor that Flik was after. Leaving the catapult on the small bench, he gathered the box and brought it outside. Settling down on the grass, he emptied the contents onto the ground. The first to come out was a folded wooden frame, followed by a gold-orange tarp with feathers at one end, then orange wings, and finally a gigantic red bird head slightly smaller than Heimlich's diameter. All of these were part of a large fake bird Flik wanted to use for tonight's show.

The anticipation of putting together the bird cleared out all the negativity in his mind, and he rubbed his hands together. "Right! Today's the day, buddy. We're gonna have our debut!" He began assembling the frame, everything already fitting into place thanks to weeks upon weeks of tinkering and molding. The wings fit easily into the body and the frame looked nice and even under the tarp. Once he attached the head, he stepped back to admire his masterpiece. "Lookin' good! Now, for the final test." He put the costume over himself and grabbed the handles controlling the beak, swooping forward as if the bird was eating something. So far, so good! And it held together well.

"You look like you're having fun," giggled a sweet voice. "Is this what's taking up all that space in our home?" Gypsy peeked through the beak, smiling at the young man inside. "You're really going all out for tonight."

Flik got out of the costume and gently set it back on the grass. "Yep! It's my very first show! My chance to prove myself!"

"You're already doing all right as our mechanic," commented the assistant, fiddling with some of the blue feathers in her reddish-brown hair. "Oh, but I'm excited to see what you'll do with this. What's the plan?"

"You'll see!"

"And here I was worried you would be in low spirits." The two turned to see Manny stride towards them, chin up in a show of confidence. Clearly, he had a satisfactory time at the previews. "If you are finished, we should be going inside."

Flik sighed. "That time again?"

"I will try to make this quick, my boy." They wasted no time going back to the caravan, and the air took on the hint of dread. Moving the catapult aside, Manny took a seat on the small bench and gestured for Flik to lie down on the guest couch. "Now, close your eyes."

Flik tried to relax, concentrate on anything except the procedure, but then his thoughts cut off and he let out a sharp gasp. Even though he knew otherwise, it felt like his heart was pulled out of his chest while still connected by a string. Something that felt like tendrils began to tug at his soul, fluffing it up like a pillow. They stretched and shaped it to fill out what emptiness it could. The still-gaping wounds and still-forming scars of the soul shifted along as it was kneaded, sending shocks of pain throughout his body. He clenched his teeth, his fingers and toes curled as he tried not to ball up.

The only comfort came from Gypsy taking one of his hands. "It'll be over soon," she tried to soothe him, very much like a mother would a sickly child. "You're doing great."

Thankfully, the process tended to only last a few minutes at most. When he began to hear the sound of breaking seams, it all stopped. Air began rushing into his lungs and he just realized he hadn't been breathing properly. He also felt just a little less empty, probably the only good thing to ever come out of this soul-fluffing therapy. From the corner of his eye, he saw Manny was fatigued himself, holding his head.

"How is he?" Gypsy asked, now next to her husband so he could lean on her. "How much progress have you made?"

Panting to regain his breath, Manny rubbed at his temples. "He's… recovering well, but there was instability in his soul." After a few moments, he sat back up and faced his patient. "What seems to be the matter, Flik?"

Flik found the strength to wave at him. "It's nothing. Just thought someone might have known me." He could see the magician's sympathy.

"Ah, yes. The boys have told me."

"Right, of course they—wait, if you knew, then why ask me?"

"I wanted to hear from you, of course," Manny chuckled. "Now, I've noticed instability, but does that little instant still bother you?"

Flik sighed. "I'll get over it." Glancing at a window, he realized he was running out of time. "Oh no! I'm supposed to practice with the guys!" He tried to sit up, but Gypsy stopped him.

"We can't have you performing with an unstable soul, dear. Don't worry, you don't have to earn your keep just yet." She kept a hand on his shoulder to keep him down with surprising strength. It was easy to forget with her delicate appearance. "You're still technically five years old anyway."

"I'm not five!" That didn't help his case. "Look, it's just my soul, and it's healing! I promise the moment something's off, I'll exit right away!"

"Bird and all?"

"Yes, yes!"

The married couple gave each other quiet and slightly exasperated looks before conceding. "One act," Manny conditioned with a sigh. "One hopefully short act, and that is all."

"Great! Perfect! Gotta go!" Flik scrambled off the couch, not even waiting for Gypsy to move her hand, and dashed to the door. Just as he opened it to practically fly out, he ran into Rosie's arm.

"Whoa there! Didn't you just finish therapy?" she laughed, holding the young man up before he could collapse.

"I'm fine! Fit as a button."

"You mean 'fit as a fiddle?'"

"Yeah, sure. I just need to find the guys. I'm part of their act today!" Flik squirmed and struggled, but Rosie clearly had no intention of just letting him go. When his legs gave way, he just hung on her arm, frustrated.

The spider-like woman let herself in, somehow graceful despite having so many legs. "You don't have to run, you know. Your legs were wobbling earlier." She practically dragged him back to the couch and made him sit, much to his annoyance and everyone else's amusement. "So, I heard about what happened in town."

Flik rolled his eyes. "First Manny and Gypsy, and now you."

"Hey, they were worried about you," Rosie crossed her arms, but her smile never left.

"They didn't have to tell everyone."

"P.T. doesn't know."

"P.T. doesn't care."

"What was that?" Any and all laughter ceased as the short ringmaster stepped into the caravan, not seeming to mind how crowded it was getting. "Geez, I was lookin' for you guys! We have very special guests coming, so go practice your acts!"

The ribbon dancer began fiddling her fingers. "Oh? Is tonight really that important? Maybe Flik should delay his debut."

"Rosie, I'm fine."

" _All hands on deck_! We're being visited by the royal family today. We gotta put on a performance like no other!" The small man then pointed at Flik. "That means you, too, Newbie!"

"Yes, sir."

"That's what I like to hear. Now, get to it! And check the cannon when you're done!" P.T. dashed away, hopping like his namesake to presumably look for the others to spread the news.

After a few seconds, Flik stood up. "Well, you heard the man. Let's all practice and make this a night they'll never forget!" Standing once again, he was pleased to see that his legs had stabilized. With a relieved sigh, he made his way to the door.

"Remember your promise, Flik!" Manny called.

"I know!" With a wave, the clown dashed into freedom, making a quick detour to grab his bird and rush to the field where the others would be practicing. A tailwind sped him along and he could have sworn he heard some celebratory song.

* * *

Dot flew up the spiraling stairs of the castle's tallest tower, giggling the entire way. Royal blue walls and floors gave way to soft purple the closer she got to the lonely door at the top of the stairs. The guards that stood there paid her no mind, for she was a princess. Knocking on the package flap, she heard a soft "Come in," allowing her to pull a key from her dress pocket and unlock the door.

"Atta! Atta! We're going to the circus tonight!" the small princess announced, rushing up to the bed at the other side of the room.

"I know. Mother told me earlier." Atta did not move from the window, peering through a green, crudely-made telescope at the outside world.

Dot climbed onto the bed and sat next to her sister. "I met the clowns, too! I really like the blue one the most. His name's Flik!" she chattered cheerily. "You saw him, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did." Atta set the telescope on her lap and smiled sadly. She mumbled something, but Dot couldn't hear. Turning to the smaller princess, Atta sighed and gave her a stern look. "But you shouldn't be going up to strangers like that."

"He didn't look suspicious!"

"Even if you somehow knew for sure that he's a good guy, the guards might misunderstand. They might arrest him and—"

"You're actually worried about _him_ , aren't you?" Dot wasn't sure if she was satisfied or just more curious when Atta clammed up. Seeing how uncomfortable her sister looked, she decided against prying. The last thing she wanted right now was to make her sad. "It's okay. We only talked."

The elder princess nodded. "I know, I saw." She fiddled with the telescope, a fond smile on her features. "He looked so happy."

"Not the whole time," said Dot, frowning. "He got kinda sad when Mr. Soil said he didn't remember him. Flik said he can't remember anything from before five years ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I wonder what happened…"

"...I wonder, too."


	3. Two Firsts and a Second

**Here we go, another chapter! I tried making this one longer, since I thought the previous chapter was short. I hope you're enjoying this so far, those who are reading. Do drop a review! I practically live on feedback. It's almost as good as coffee.**

 **Disclaimer: I would _love_ to work at Pixar, but that does not and never will mean I own anyone here.**

* * *

 **Two Firsts and a Second**

"I call upon the voice of the Equinox Philosopher!"

From behind the curtains, Flik watched as Manny spun the Cabinet of Metamorphosis. Normally, he would be completely focused on the show, but his mind kept wandering this time. It was almost time for the clowns to act, and each passing second made him more jittery, yet they also seemed agonizingly slow. Part of him wanted to get this thing over with, another part wanted to take some more time to perfect his performance. He glanced at the bird costume at the side, just waiting for its chance to shine, and then looked around the backstage for some distraction.

It didn't really help. The backroom was just as bustling as the outside floor itself. Even when resting, nobody simply laid around and relaxed. To one side, Rosie was praising Dim and giving him treats, and then checking him over in case she accidentally struck him, Judging by the rhino's pleased expression, he was totally fine. Nearer to the curtains, Tuck and Roll were arguing in their unintelligible language and wrestling. As it was an everyday occurrence, they were left uninterrupted. Way in the back, Heimlich was chasing Francis and Slim as last minute practice for their upcoming act. Well, it was either that or Francis had stolen the large clown's pie and everyone knew Heimlich magically became active when he was hungry.

Giving up, Flik looked back outside, where he caught sight of the highwire poles. Thoughts congregated in his head and his heart began to race with excitement. Wouldn't it be amazing if the bird flew down from above?!

"Uh oh, that's the face of someone who's got an idea."

Perfect! Just the person he wanted to ask! "Rosie! I have—"

"No can do. You don't want to overdo it." The ribbon dancer pulled him away from the curtains. "I don't care how much better you think it'll be. If we haven't rehearsed, we can't do it."

"Just think of it as improvisation!" Flik pleaded, putting his hands together. "You just need to lower me—the bird—to the ground for a split second. I don't need to fly!"

"You don't need to try so hard, either. It's just one act, and I'm sure you'll be fine." She gestured to the resting bird. "Besides, do you even have a harness in that thing? I don't think you expect me to just lower you without one." Remembering the frame under the tarp, Flik knew she was right. It wouldn't be easy to float down as is, and untying the silk could be a hassle.

With a defeated sigh, he lost his energetic posture. "Okay, you're right. I just wanted to prove myself, you know? I mean, I don't work everyday like the rest of you do. Only when something needs fixing." It certainly didn't feel like enough to warrant the roof over his head and the food he shared with everyone. "You all took me in when I didn't have anything. Shouldn't I be giving back?"

Rosie huffed and rolled her eyes. "We didn't adopt you on a loan or anything like that. It's all unconditional, got it? _Unconditional_." She gave him a light punch to the arm as she enunciated. "Just take care of yourself, that's all we want. And I mean it."

Before Flik could retort, he heard a loud applause. He felt his heart pounding as he realized it was time for clowns to go out.

"Magic show is over! You clowns get out there now!" P.T. shouted from the curtain before leaping back out to announce the act.

"Oh, I hate performing on an empty shtomach," Heimlich whined. Dressed as a bee, he followed sulkily after the flowered Slim and Francis, pausing to smile and wave at Flik. "Vish us luck!"

"Break a leg!" the blue clown waved back, hurrying to get to his bird. The costume's wings flapped with as much enthusiasm as he had. "Should I make bird sounds? Or will the music drown me out? What if the music isn't loud enough and I make no sounds and—"

"Flik, honey, nothing's going to happen," Rosie assured him, bringing him to the curtain. "Now, just watch for your cue. And be natural, okay?"

Outside, Slim pranced around, with a seemingly cheerful Francis dancing circles around him. "Tra la la la la, spring's in the air, and I'm a flower… with nothing interesting to say." His nonchalant and bored tone got some of the audience chuckling. Suddenly, they both jumped back as Heimlich flopped where they stood. "A bee!"

"I am a cute little bumblebee! Here I come! Flitting srough zee meadow!" The bee gave chase after the flowers, though they were too quick for him. Huffing and puffing, the large clown began to lose momentum. "Shlow down, you flowers!"

"Here I go!" Flik burst through the curtain, doing his best bird shriek, and charged towards Heimlich. He laughed as the large clown screamed and with renewed energy ran for his life. Well, it was more like he hobbled and flailed like a fish. Flik then began hopping, zig-zagging his movements and circling the wriggling bee.

The crowd roared, some screaming for Heimlich to get away and some cheering for the bird to get him. Taps bounced off the tarp as popcorn launched from the front seats, maybe an attempt to save the bee from the horrifying bird. Formerly edible treats crunched under Flik's feet and he began to make a game of trying to hop on as many as he could whilst chasing Heimlich. Best of all, laughter chorused all around. There was honest-to-goodness laughter and Flik was making it happen! He began to join them, tilting the bird back as it celebrated with him, head high and beak open.

Then he brought it down on Heimlich's head.

Flik had to move back a bit, but there was no escaping his friend's frantic screaming. Trying to bear with ringing ears, he pushed at the handles to open the beak enough for Heimlich to jump through, but then he felt the joints catch. To his horror, the beak wouldn't open any further. "No, no, no!"

"Vat's vrong?!"

"It's stuck!" Flik jiggled the handles, trying to get them to come loose, but they wouldn't budge. Frustration bubbled up as he tried again and again to get the beak to open up. He had been working on this for weeks and it just had to mess up now! "C'mon! Open!"

He heard the music boom, playing up the drama, trying to compete with the crowd drowning everything but their own exhilaration. Seeing shadows fall over the tarp, Flik knew that Slim and Francis were ready to intervene if anything was amiss. Their waving shadows meant they were worried, but he couldn't hear a thing they were saying. Meanwhile, Flik just panicked as the frame crackled. The bird was supposed to _eat_ the bee, not choke on it!

"Wait, that's it! The bird's choking on the bee!" He jerked to the side and lurched the bird forward, eliciting a collective gasp. "Pull me out as soon as I fall!"

Here's to hoping Heimlich heard what he said. The audience's hilarity made it hard to hear his own voice. Flik rattled the bird, giving it enough spasms so as to give it the death throes. Finally, he fell to his knees, taking his creation with him as the music died abruptly. As the bird collapsed, Heimlich grabbed him and pulled him out through the beak, holding him high above the carcass. There was a drum roll as he began to "wake," and a trumpet played the classic "Ta-da!" music.

The viewers came to life once again with applause, a sign of a show well done. For the finishing touch, Heimlich set Flik down and the two of them hunched like villains. Their fingers bent and hands became reaching claws. They smirked at Slim and Francis, who wore faces of fear as the flowers were now faced against _two_ insects. They ran toward the curtain, chased by the bee and his new friend. The audience's joy and laughter saw them off.

Flik was the last to leave the stage. "Whoo! Did you see that? Wasn't that amazing?!" he cheered once he was back behind the curtain. "I feel so alive!"

"Good! Because you're gonna be dead!" Waving a threatening fist, Francis marched up to Flik. "We didn't rehearse any dying bird! You scared Slim to death!"

Said tall man raised a knowing eyebrow. "What Francis means is that _we_ were worried," he corrected with a smirk. He then gave Flik a stern look and crossed his arms. "It was funny in the end, but we were shocked when you hit the floor."

Flik raised his hands in surrender. "I know, I know. I'm sorry," though there was hardly a sign of remorse on the his face. "The beak got stuck, so I had to think fast to save the act. Heimlich can vouch for me! Right, Heimlich?"

"Ja, zee beak vas shtuck," nodded the large clown.

"See?"

The duo sighed, not quite convinced but not unbelieving either. "Just don't do it again," said the shorter of the two, still glaring.

The blue clown took no heed and simply stood proudly. "Still, not bad for a first show, huh?"

"And it's not over yet!" P.T. peeked in before anyone could respond. "Everyone! Finale, now!" Then he hopped out to announce the final act for the night. A few second later, everyone heard the familiar shout of "FLAMING DEATH!"

"Seriously?!" Francis grouched. "We just got back!"

"Already? We normally have a few more seconds."

"It's not so bad," Slim chimed, though he spoke more to a confused Flik than the irritated Francis. "We clowns only need to stand by. Be sure to get the water ready."

"Got it!"

The troupe made it back out in a single file line, taking their places once introduced by the ringmaster. Heimlich and Francis doused a giant adhesive sheet with oil as Slim directed attention to the sheet; Tuck and Roll swung from the trapeze and landed in front of a cannon; Dim took his place on a diving board over that cannon; Manny and Gypsy set a timer to fifteen seconds; and finally Rosie waved to the audience from the highwire. Only Flik stayed out of the spotlight, filling up buckets with water and lining them up. When everything was done, all acts besides the clowns blindfolded themselves as per instructions.

Now, all that was left was to watch. Flik flipped over an empty bucket and took a seat, waiting for P.T. to light the trail of gunpowder. Chances of everything going as planned were almost nil. Sometimes Tuck and Roll would argue and someone else—usually Flea—would get caught in the sheet instead. The true suspense then lied in whether or not something would go wrong, and watching the spectator's reactions was just as entertaining as seeing the finale blind.

So when Tuck and Roll once again accidentally got the gunpowder lit too early, Flik watched the audience. He began to wonder then how Dot was reacting to all of this. The idea that his new friend was as shocked as everyone else did seem funny. He spotted her covering her face, yet peeking out between her fingers. The regal woman next to her, most certainly the Queen, was on the edge of her seat as well.

Time slowed when his eyes fell on the young woman sitting at the Queen's right hand.

The tiara on her head was a clear sign she was a princess, but all that really registered in Flik's mind was that she was beautiful. She held herself with a kind of gracefulness that seemed almost celestial. Her lavender hair was a flowing river about her heart-shaped face, and somehow a halo in the dimness of the tent. Maybe most striking was the somber and almost melancholic air about her. Flik felt a longing to talk to the Princess, to bring out a smile on her face, to hear her laugh.

The world fell away completely once her eyes met his, and he saw hints of… grief? Relief? His breath hitched as he felt the spaces within him getting smaller and smaller, something foreign overflowing and somehow blocking his throat. He clenched his hand over his heart in a vain attempt to keep it from bursting. The invading feeling was both comforting and painful, more overwhelming than any therapy he had gone through. Most of all, this strange feeling was many parts hope.

Maybe... just maybe…

She was the one who broke contact, and reality crashed back onto Flik. The world was so loud with screams and panicked shouts for "Water! Water! Water!" At the stage, he saw his friends scrambling about with the buckets of water, but they would end up throwing it over the flames instead of on them. Those same flames were crawling toward a trapped P.T. Flea.

Wait a second, Flik was supposed to be out there, too!

He sprung to his feet and grabbed one of the remaining buckets of water, rushing to the gunpowder to throw water over it, but he was too late. Blinding light seared away even the sound, heating the entire room. The water evaporated immediately in the inferno, and part of him wondered if his boss could really survive it. As the fire cleared, the crowd gasped and murmured as there was no sign of the ringmaster. Just about everyone else was frozen, too. The stage was the setting of a tragedy.

But then the music rose triumphant and the lights shined on P.T. being lowered to the ground by Rosie's silk. There arose cheering, applause, sighs of relief that went unheard in the euphoria, and a subtle sign to exit.

This time, Flik was the first to leave. Refreshing cold air hit him and he tried to breathe as much of it in as he could. Finding a place mostly cleared of people and out of the way of exiting citizens, he leaned against a nearby pole to get his bearings. The familiar emptiness was much more prominent now that there was nothing to distract him, and it made him miss the weird feeling more and more. Soon, he found it hard to stand, and he slid to the ground.

How strange. He thought he would be celebrating with his friends, listening to any comments and advice, reading written anonymous reviews from the audience. Everything went well for once, so there was really no need for him to try to hide from everyone. Maybe it was a secret fear that Manny would have to fix up his soul again. Part of Flik worried that P.T. might get a little miffed, but if he could handle Tuck and Roll not understanding a thing he said, he could probably tolerate this.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. It'll pass," he repeated to himself over and over again. It never physically helped, but it gave him something to concentrate on. This emptiness was nothing new, but he'd be lying if he tried to convince himself that it wasn't one of the worst bouts he felt in a while.

Images of the Princess flashed back to his mind. No, she did not look familiar at all. Nothing came to mind, no bells rung, no sights nor sounds nor any other sense. True to the curse, there were no memories of her. In spite of it all, she somehow made his soul react. It was impossible, but it was such a wonderful miracle. Just who was she that she could make him feel so complete?

"Is this what falling in love feels like?" Flik mused, an undoubtedly stupid grin growing on his face. How else could he explain this turn of events? It must be love at first sight. If people could call love the most powerful force, then even a fractured soul like his could fall into its sweet influence. It was so silly, he hadn't even spoken a word, but something was there. He saw something in her eyes, too.

But reality was the destroyer of dreams, and the grin disappeared. His crush was a princess, and he was a clown. Moreover, he was a cursed nobody, a nonperson of questionable existence. What were the odds that there was a chance for him?

"Flik! Hey!" The clown's train of thought caught in a wreck of the century as a child's voice called to him. Lilac bounced from the corner of his eye and he turned to see Princess Dot running up to him. "You were great! Was that really your first show?"

Flik gave her an appreciative smile, both for her little review and for the distraction. "Yep. There'll be more where that came from, too."

"I didn't see you use the catapult, though."

"That's because it's not done yet." Seeing that they were rather alone, Flik became worried. "Hey, where's your mother, Princess? Did you really run over here by yourself?"

The little princess crossed her arms and pouted. Her freckles just made her look even more like an adorable little girl. "I said you can call me 'Dot,'" she huffed. "I'm okay, anyway. I'm not little; I can take care of myself."

"You make being little sound like a bad thing."

"Because it is!"

"No, it's not."

"Is too!"

"Is not."

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"Is too, is too, is too!"

"Is not, is not, is—" Flik's eyes widened as he realized he was a grown man bickering with a child. Not to mention he himself didn't appreciate being called a five-year-old anyway. What a hypocrite. "You know what? We'll get back to that."

"That just means I win," the little princess bragged smugly. "So, why are you on the ground? Are you tired?"

"Just a bit." Flik adjusted himself so that he didn't look so much like a slouch. "Anyway, why aren't you with your mother? It's not safe to be here, and I'm a stranger."

She didn't seem fazed at all. "But you're nice. I should know. I'm a good judge of charcter."

"You mean 'character?'"

"Yeah, that."

Flik sighed, trying not to give her a talk about stranger danger. Right now, she was not with her family and he was the only one who could help her get back to them. "C'mon, let's get you back to your mom, and then promise you won't go following every 'nice' guy." He stood up, glad that he managed to stay stable, and began walking with Dot back to the more populous areas. His mind began to bring up images of the sad-eyed Princess. "Say, Dot, who was that woman next to your mother?" He flinched, for the words had rushed out the moment he thought of her.

"She's my sister: Princess Atta," replied the younger princess. Her tone was unreadable. "Do you like her?"

"What?! No way. I just saw her and I—"

"You like her, huh?" Dot paused, which meant Flik had to stop, too. "It's okay. A lot of people do." Her smile fell a little. "But she can't like anybody."

"Huh? Why not?" O reality why must you be so cruel?

"I don't know. Nobody will tell me." She looked sadly up at Flik. "I want her to be happy, though. Can you make her happy?"

The clown knelt down to her level. "I'll come up with something," he told her, but he was so unsure. What would be good enough for a princess? "What kind of things does she like?"

Dot put a hand to her chin. Already acting like a little thinker. "I can check her room and tell you tomorrow."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that."

"Dot!" someone called, causing both man and child to turn toward the voice. "Dot! Where are you?!"

"It's Mom!" As if their conversation hadn't happened, the little princess brightened up. Her small legs carried her toward the regal Queen and her squad of guards, and Dot briefly looked back to wave farewell. "Bye, Flik! See you tomorrow!"

Flik waved back and kept up a smile until she was out of sight. Only afterwards did he let his body become somewhat limp. He took the time to process what he had just learned. Apparently, his crush is named "Atta" and she was could not "like" anyone. Whether that meant she was not allowed to or simply could not feel attraction, Flik wasn't sure, but the hopelessness he felt just grew deeper.

Tired, he returned to the tent. He'll just let everyone know he's okay, if they were worried, and then go home to work on his catapult.

* * *

It was late at night, everyone should be asleep, and the guards never looked into this room.

"Okay, I'm ready," Atta murmured to herself and she looked her reflection up and down. She was dressed in a dark blue robe, a hood covering her head. With the moon out and shining, wearing something black would be too noticeable, too alarming, should anyone happen to look up. No, she was not leaving permanently, but she did need fresh air and space. Lots and lots of space, without any guards.

The princess moved the loose stones behind her dresser, revealing a tunnel to the outside world. She cradled her box to her figure before crawling through the tunnel and closing the opening behind her, and then she opened up the other side. The air was crisp and cool, nothing like the stuffy room. Oh, she had measures let in some air, but it was nothing compared to the infinite supply that was outside.

The outside opening led out below the balcony, or what used to be a balcony. It had been converted into an extension of her tower's room, and now held her bed among other things. This was so anyone who could fly would not be able to enter her room easily, but also so she wouldn't have a platform to fly off of herself. No one really counted on her developing a rebellious streak and making an opening, however.

Carefully, she peeked out to ensure no one was watching nor patrolling. She waited for a few minutes, ducking back as she heard a guard pass by. Quickly, she set her box down and hung off the hole she had made, taking a deep breath and imagining wings on her back. A buzzing later, she felt weight lose its grip on her and she floated effortlessly. Behind her were light blurs like hummingbird wings. She retrieved her box, closed up the exit, and flew off into the night.

Nowhere in the Anterrian capital was safe for her to land. It was not because anywhere was particularly dangerous, but because they would surely report her. After all, she was not supposed to be outside unsupervised. It was dangerous for them. Atta felt a bitterness that caused her to clutch her parcel closer to her. She never thought she would ever resent those sentiments.

It was unbecoming of their Chosen Princess, after all.

But she absolutely could not stay in her room tonight. In all other nights over these few years that she flew away, she could chalk them up to mere whims, but not so for tonight. Her heart was in turmoil. If she remained in her prison, she knew she would have gone mad.

Atta glanced behind her to ensure the castle was still in view before looking down. She spotted a clearing complete with a lake, separated from town and the fairgrounds by a decent stretch of trees. It wasn't too far either, so she reasoned she could rush back home fairly quickly if she needed to.

Her feet soon touched ground, right at the shore of the lake. It was beautiful here. The waters were painted with the stars and the moon above, but the ripples were a telltale sign that it was all simply a reflection. Fireflies danced together, seeming to rise from the lake and filling the space between land and sky with golden orbs.

Atta settled herself down on a boulder embedded in the grass some distance away. Her box was set right next to her and opened, revealing white lilies within. The princess pulled out the base that the flowers rested on: a box no longer than two hands, no wider than a palm, and no taller than any common jewelry box. Embracing its sides were carefully carved green leaves and, despite the dim light, she could see that the remaining spaces were painted both lavender and sky blue. At its front was a daisy that served as both latch and knob.

She smiled at the little thing, though strained at seeing how one of the lilies was clearly clumsily glued on, over and over again. Sighing, she placed her treasure on her lap, turned the daisy, and listened intently to the musical chimes that followed. The unrest in her heart began to settle with each note that the music box played. Even the world seemed to have the courtesy to remain quiet and allow her this moment. All she could hear now was the music so carefully and lovingly made just for her.

Then pain followed.

Atta let out an ungraceful cry and leaned forward, her hands flying to the back of her head. Her heart stopped and blood ran cold once she heard the music stop and something thud on the ground. Eyes widened in horror as she took in the sight of the music box tumbling down, lid snapped off its hinge and leaving behind flowers.

"Oh no! No!" She gave chase, gathering up the pieces and grabbing the box before it touched the wet sand. The stinging behind her head felt like nothing now as she struggled to control the grief in her heart.

"I'm sorry!" someone shrieked behind her and she jolted, horrified to find that she wasn't alone. Spinning around, Atta spotted a male shape running towards her, panic all over his face as "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please forgive me!" tumbled out of his mouth without breath.

Alarmed, she stumbled back and tripped, the music box in its entirety flying into the waters. Now it was her turn to shriek. She scrambled into the water to try to retrieve everything before the waves could wash them away forever. A growl left her as she turned and glared at the intruder. "Don't just stand there! Help me!"

Water splashed all over her as a separate set of legs and arms joined in the search. "I'm really, truly sorry!" he kept rambling. "I didn't know anybody would be here at this time."

"Look, we'll talk about this later. Just find a box, a lid, and some flowers."

Together, much to her relief, they did manage to retrieve everything. Atta practically snatched whatever pieces the stranger had and put everything aside to dry. The box, however, was simply ruined.

"That… that was the last thing he ever gave to me," she murmured, grief slowly heating to rage, "and it's _broken_." She faced him, intending to give the culprit a piece of her mind, maybe even say things she would regret later, but—

—her heart stopped.

They weren't supposed to meet. Not now, not ever again. She could not go through that heartbreak again!

The clown's blue eyes were wide with shock of his own. "Pr-Princess Atta!" he stammered, and she realized her hood had fallen.

The princess turned to run, pulling her hood back over her head, but a desperate hand grabbed her wrist and she panicked. "Let go!" She slapped him with her free hand, an action she regretted just as soon, but she could not afford to slow down. This was to save his life!

"Please…"

Atta's breath hitched. Her legs refused to move any further. Slowly, she turned back towards him, and found him on the ground. His hand looked like it was trying to rip his own heart out of his chest. His face was so contorted with agony that doing so might actually help him. Even so, he managed to look up at her, as if she could save him.

"Please… do you know me?"


	4. Tastes of the Past

**This chapter caused me so much trouble, lemme tell ya! I've renamed it so many times, I've rewritten many scenes countless times, and read other stories to get a feel for pacing and structure. I hope it all paid off, but most of all, I hope you all enjoy! Feel free to leave a review, too. Eager readers lead to an eager writer.**

 **Random author thought: Slim is a stick bug and his first scene showed him being a bit of a stickler. *mind explodes***

* * *

 **Tastes of the Past**

The moon was a silent sentry over them as they sat together in the grass near the lake. Well, the Princess sat and Flik lay, his very core so painful that it was hard for him to keep breathing, much less sit up. He was grateful, however, that Princess Atta had decided to stay and watch over him until he got better. She could have easily left him and she would have been justified in doing so.

To think this all happened because he was testing his catapult. After hours of fiddling with the accursed assembly of wood, he had finally managed to get it to work on cue. Of course, no project was complete without a few tests, so he catapulted rocks of varying weights in random directions. He never thought that one of the rocks would be soaring towards the Princess herself, and that a project that finally worked perfectly would ruin something else.

Flik bit his bottom lip in remorse. "I really didn't mean to break your box."

"I told you it's fine. At least the knob works and I can still hear the music," she assured, though she remained cross. "I could probably glue some of it back together."

The clown managed to peek an eye open to look at the box, which was some distance away and drying. "I can fix it for you."

Princess Atta jolted slightly and turned her head to slightly towards him. "You s—you can fix it?"

"Yep. Good as new, too." He flashed her a confident grin.

There was silence as she went back to staring across the lake, most likely thinking about the offer. Moments became seconds became minutes, and Flik wondered why it took so long to decide. Maybe she didn't trust him? Perhaps she was scared of clowns, though he looked nothing like any clown right now.

Finally, a wry smile appeared on her face. "Fine, but I want to watch and learn how to fix it myself," she told him. "How much will I owe you?"

"Oh, it's nothing. It was my fault, anyway."

"Would you just quit it already? It's not the first time it broke." She was giggling, and mesmerizing with the moonlit halo in her hair. "Besides, I can't ask you to put your time into fixing it for free. Name your price."

"I really don't have a price."

"Then make one up."

Flik sighed. "I'll think of something, _Your Highness_." He had meant to be playful, but then he saw her grimace. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be." Princess Atta recovered, but she now looked around him rather than at him. She put on a smile once again. "So, what do they call you?"

He was thankful for the change in topic. "My name's Flik."

Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn her face twitched. Her smile became strained as well. "Is it short for anything?" she asked, sounding awfully like she was trying to keep her voice steady.

He tried to ignore his observations and just shrugged. "Maybe. Manny said it was all he could find of my memory."

"Manny?"

"Our magician," he clarified. "I'd say he's my doctor, too. He's been treating me for as long as I can remember." Realizing what he had just said, he chuckled. He had to stop when he saw her discomfort, now more evident. "Did I say something wrong?

She shook her head. "No, no." Twiddling her fingers, she looked like she was calculating something. "When did this all start?"

Flik counted the time on his fingers. "Around five years ago. He and the rest of the troupe found me on a night just like this one." He smiled fondly as he recalled the memory, bittersweet as it was. He could have sworn he saw Princess Atta smile genuinely as well. "Somebody left me in the middle of their camp, no memories or anything. It would have been so easy to simply send me away, but they took me in like I already belonged with them." He then realized how long he had been blabbering. "Oh, but enough about me. Tell me something about you."

As if a spell was broken, her smile disappeared and she was calculating again. "Well, you know I'm a princess."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"And that I have a sister?" She was stalling.

"Dot."

"That's right. Do you maybe know…?" she trailed off.

His curiosity got the best of him and Flik couldn't stop himself then. "You never answered my question."

She froze, eyes slightly widened. "What do you mean?" She was nervous, perhaps afraid of what was to come.

His throat began closing up. Emotions began running wild as he tried to hope and yet keep that hope down. It was such a long shot, but that shock on her face earlier had to be of recognition. _Please_ let it be recognition! "Do—Did you know me? The real me? Anything from before five years ago will be enough." He dared to look into her own blue eyes, hoping to find that flash in them. "The way you looked at me, I thought… I thought you must know something. If it wasn't you..."

They stared at each other for a long time, one with growing hope and the other with… something. The Princess' breathing became uneven, like she wanted to reveal a secret but could not find it in herself to bring it out.

She finally closed her eyes and turned away. "No, I'm sorry," she sighed regrettably. "You just reminded me of someone. It happens, you know, people looking alike."

Flik's heart shattered right then. He hid his face in the grass, but he knew he was being obvious. "I-I see." He should have expected it, of course. What were the odds that a princess would know him personally? If someone hated him enough to use Dying Memory on him, there was no way a beautiful princess would even _know_ who he was.

He had to pull himself together. What kind of clown would he be if he made someone feel bad? Well, he wasn't sure if Princess Atta felt bad, but she shouldn't have to see someone being this affected by disappointment. Besides, his soul was supposed to be recovering. The young man tried to push all his emotions to the back of his mind and force as natural a smile as he could. He would unearth his feelings later, and then build something to help himself feel better.

Ah, but he had a companion to be entertaining right now. Flik lifted up his head and beamed at the Princess. "Well, no sweat. I'm sure someone will pop up someday," he chirped, glad that he sounded normal. "So, what's this guy like?" He suddenly became aware that her hand was stretched towards him.

She jerked her hand back and blushed. "W-what?"

Flik felt his cheeks warm up as well. "Um… The person I remind you of," he clarified, trying to pay no mind to a few seconds ago. "Di-did he make your music box?"

"...how did you know?"

"Just a guess." He looked back at the box, trying to memorize the design and the colors. Looking closely, after filtering out the silvery moonlight, he saw that the shade of purple on the box matched Princess Atta's hair. "He must have put a lot of care into it."

There was that beautiful smile again, but it was so different as well. It was much sadder, yet even warmer. "He really did." Her hands clasped together as she looked up towards the stars. "I think it's his very best work."

There was no way Flik could compete with the man who could make Princess Atta smile like a maiden in love. "He sounds very special to you," he said as he closed his eyes and relaxed into the grass.

She didn't reply. It must have been a sore spot.

The seconds passed quietly by, counted by the soft waves and singing crickets around them. Occasionally, the grass would rustle, shivering from the chilly wind disrupting summer air. He entertained the idea of this being a romantic night, if only just for a moment.

He heard a more active rustle as the Princess moved. "How are you feeling?" she inquired.

Now that he remembered why they were still here, the clown realized he was no longer in pain. "Much better, actually." He sat up, taking a deep breath and relishing the chilly air and lack of pain in his chest.

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

He had completely forgotten about that, though it didn't really bother him. His cheek didn't even sting anymore, and it surely won't bruise. "Don't worry about it. I shouldn't have grabbed your arm like that."

"It's fine. So, do you think you can make it back on your own?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good, because I need to be going," she told him. Following was the faint sound of wood clattering. She must be putting her things away. "Can I trust you to be here tomorrow night?"

"W-what?!" Flik's eyes shot open and he stared at a very amused Princess Atta. "You want me to get started _tomorrow_?"

"Well, of course. I want this fixed as soon as possible."

"O-o-okay. I'll be sure to bring my tool chest. Oh, maybe I should restock on paints. Actually, yes, I'll buy paints..." He mumbled his plans and ideas while picking himself off the ground and brushing off as much grass as he could. "Uh… Would you like me to escort you home?"

Princess Atta stiffened a bit. "No, we really shouldn't be seen together. I'm not even supposed to be outside, much less here," she admitted, looking away.

"What a coincidence. I'm not supposed to be out either." Flik rolled his eyes. Ever since he had told everyone that he wanted to go home instead of celebrate, they had all but confined him to his room. His nearly unbearably tiny room. "But isn't it dangerous to be out on your own?"

"Don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I snuck out, and I can fly." To prove her point, she closed her eyes in focus. Moments later, translucent wings sprouted behind her and began buzzing, lifting her off the ground.

Flik couldn't say he was stunned, but he was still impressed. "Wow, I wish I could fly!" It was as if someone flipped a switch and he became excited. "So many people I know can: Manny, Gypsy, Francis—Heimlich says he can fly too, but I've never seen him actually do it—" He was stopped as a hand clamped over his mouth.

Princess Atta gave him a nervous and urgent frown. "That's enough for today."

Sheepish, he moved her hand away. "Oh, right." He backed off hurriedly, trying not to focus on how hot his face was getting. Think of something else, he told himself, like how they were the same height, or that they'll see each other the next night. "Tomorrow, then? Well, technically tonight, but it's going to be the next—"

She had to interrupt him again. "Yes. Tomorrow. Don't tell anyone about this, okay?" She pulled her hood over her head, waved farewell and then swiftly took off into the sky, almost melting into the dark blue above them.

He waved back even long after she had gone, and then let his hand dangle heavily at his side. Having someone new to talk to and probably confide in was rather nice. That someone being his crush was even nicer, and he already missed her company.

With a sigh, Flik forced his legs to move in the direction of the caravans. He did take a detour to pick up his little catapult, which he had dropped once he learned he accidentally hit Princess Atta. He found it lying rather pitifully under a blueberry bush. Thankfully, it wasn't broken, though he wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing. He gave the contraption a half-smile, half-frown. "The one time you work and you go and break something," he admonished as if it was his child. Shaking his head as he would if it responded, he disarmed it and carried it off with him.

Once he reached home and got past the door, his steps slowed and he would press on every spot of wood he happened to step on before moving forward. If he wasn't careful, the wood could creak and disturb his roommates. The catapult was painstakingly set on a couch and he dragged himself into the crawlspace that was his room. Miraculously, all of this was done silently, or maybe the crickets outside drowned everything out. Flik breathed as soon as he was under his covers, freezing when he heard creaking above him. It took some moments before he let his eyelids slowly close and he let himself drift off to sleep.

His last thought for the night was a realization that he felt complete.

* * *

When daylight came, the fairgrounds were once again filled with singles, couples, or groups of various numbers. Today was a tad bit more crowded, perhaps due to the word of mouth from the first-day participants that drew in more guests. In fact, it could be hard to move with so many people pushing and shoving to get to as many attractions as they could within the day.

It was a good thing Flik was so thin. He chuckled to himself as Francis' off-color rants became fainter and fainter, with everyone getting left behind in the wave of people. Slim could probably be the only one to get through and catch up to the amnesiac, but his being around eight feet tall also made it easier for him to lose his balance. All in all, they were disadvantaged and Flik was certain he could avoid them for a little longer, maybe long enough to spend an actual day at the market. Given that the clowns had previews to do today, that meant at least two of them would have to give up searching soon, too.

This time, he had settled on a dirt brown cap to hide his hair. Sure, blue hair was common in these parts, but he found it was so with brown caps as well, and he didn't want his friends recognizing the top of his head. This should be a testament to how normal these little games of chase were.

He sprinted through the town as soon as he had the space to, sometimes looking at the sky in case Francis found the opportunity to fly after him. Even if he did, though, he wouldn't be able to lift Flik off the ground. Not many flyers can lift up the unwilling, for their bones could only hollow with consent, and a runaway would definitely be unwilling.

"Flik!" The runaway nearly tripped, stopping in his tracks to look around. Who called him? "Flik! Wait up!"

His eyes widened as he saw the small princess dashing towards him. "Dot?! What are you doing here?" Looking around, he saw that they were farther from the castle than yesterday. "Please tell me you didn't come here all by yourself."

"Nope, I'm being watched," she groaned, fiddling with one of her twintails. "I just convinced them to keep their distance." She pointed to the small squadron a ways away, of which one guard waved before another elbowed him.

Flik side-eyed nothing in particular. "Huh. I wish I could get my friends to do that," he muttered.

"So, why aren't you practicing at the fair?"

"Oh, I'm not performing with the others today."

"Why?" the little princess pressed, disappointed.

"I'm kind of the new guy, so I'm just a backup for the others. That is, until the boss is sure I won't make rookie mistakes." He scratched the back of his neck, chuckling sheepishly. "Since today is a day off for me, I'm heading to the market. I need to buy some paints for… something."

"For your catapult?"

"No, I'm done with that." He glanced at the guards and then looked around to make sure no one else could hear. Then he whispered: "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah!"

"I broke something really important." At Dot's widened eyes, he added: "It was an accident, I swear! But I'm trying to fix it as good as new, which probably includes repainting."

"What did you break? Whose is it?"

He shook his head. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone."

"Aw…" Understandably, she was displeased, but she recovered quickly. "Then let's go together! I can show you the whole marketplace. Maybe we can try some blueberry-filled rolls, too. You'll love them!" She took his hand and began leading him towards the direction of the marketplace. "What color paints do you need?"

"Purple, blue, some white to make them lighter, green..." He briefly considered getting an entire set, but the lightness in his pockets dispatched the thought. For the time being, he couldn't afford anything more.

"Why do those colors sound familiar?"

Because they were the colors of Princess Atta's music box, but Flik held his tongue. If she didn't want anybody finding out that they had met, he didn't want to know how she would feel if her own sister knew.

"You're quiet."

"I was just thinking. Which shop sells paints?"

"Oh! Oh! I know which one!"

The little princess practically dragged him to a white stall that was splattered in willy-nilly colors, and then away once he had bought all that he needed. They proceeded to visit every stall afterwards for nothing more than fun. At every other step, Flik heard shoppers marveling at thingamabobs or complaining about how high some remarkably low prices were. Just about every place had a shopkeeper calling for them to sample their products, whether it was food, a collectible trinket, or everyday utensils. He took particular interest in the blacksmith's stall, and he probably would have bought as many tools as he could if he wasn't on a meager budget. At least he did walk away with a new wrench.

All the while, Dot didn't let go of his hand. Whenever they stopped in front of a shop, she would grab the nearest thing to her and explain it like a tour guide. "And this is an ant farm. Look! This spot has a lot of eggs in it!" she had chattered when they stopped at a pet stall. Of course, given her age, sometimes she would look to him for help once she reached something she didn't know, like a telescope. "Ooh! Atta has a green one of these! It's a… a..."

"Telescope."

"Yeah! That! This one looks a whole lot better than Atta's, though." She looked around as if her sister was nearby, and then hushed her voice. "She doesn't like when I say that, so it's our secret, okay?" She made a zipping motion over her mouth, obviously wanting him to do the same. "Zip!"

"Zip." It was cute, like she was the little sister he never had.

It was late afternoon, when the sun was halfway down towards the horizon, when they finally left the market and headed to the fountain square. Their last stop was the bakery at the square, which was full of patrons today. The air was thick with the scent of fresh bread, sugar, chocolate, various berries, all mixed together to create a symphony of sweet aroma.

Once they bought the rolls that Dot liked so much, blueberry became the strongest scent. Sitting outside on a bench under a curtain-like tree, the two of them partook in the treats. Flik never thought he would like a bread roll as much as he did right now. The bread melted as soon as he took a bite; the texture and taste of freshly crushed berries poured out from the cloud-soft prison. It was all over too soon, but they thankfully did buy multiple rolls.

The small princess giggled next to him. "I knew you'd love them." She cleaned her face and then leaned her head back against the bench, resting comfortably as if with someone she knew all her life. Then her blue eyes blinked up at Flik. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

Without hesitation, she confessed: "You remind me of somebody." He winced at that and his hand started towards his heart, but Dot grabbed it and pulled it away. "I mean it, though. It's not a mistake like Mr. Soil's was. I can't remember exactly what that somebody looked like, or what his name was, but I just have a feeling."

He struggled not to get his hopes up a third time. "I-is that so?"

"Mm-hm! He was really nice, like you!" she chirped, her grin widening. "He was the only one who would spend time with me even when he was supposed to be done with work." She grabbed another blueberry roll and held it up like it was the discovery of the century. "We shared these too, but he liked seed bread better. Seed bread! They don't even taste sweet!"

"I dunno, it sounds fun. It's like eating baby plants."

"Bread doesn't become plants!"

"The seeds do," Flik quipped with a slight smirk. "Bread comes from plants anyway. First, you plant the seeds, then they grow into wheat, then you grind the wheat into flour and bake it and ta-da! You get bread!"

Dot looked both interested and bored, somehow. It made sense, seeing as she was a child and probably would never grow wheat nor bake bread herself. "Uh… right." She closed her eyes, probably to recuperate.

Maybe it would help if he traced back to their previous topic. "So, what else can you tell me about this guy?"

"Hm… He didn't treat me like a princess," she answered, her tone becoming soft and even a little sad. "No matter what we did, he didn't act like it was a job. I remember telling him I wished he was my big brother, and he was happy."

"I see."

"Maybe that's why I like you, too," said the princess as she peered up at her companion. "You act like you're my big brother."

The amnesiac gave her a fond smile. "It'd be nice if I was."

Nothing more came after that. They both sat together, eating the remaining blueberry rolls, watching blue sky slowly melt into pink, and listening to an orchestra of serenading birds and flowing fountain. If not for Dot's very recognizable appearance, they looked just like siblings going out and enjoying themselves.

Seeing the sky turn darker and darker, Flik stood up and dusted off the crumbs. "It's about time for me to head back."

"Will you come tomorrow?"

"Sorry, I can't. If everything goes right tonight, I'll be doing midday shows with my friends, and then I'll perform at night. The act I'll be a part of will be a surprise."

"Then I'll come watch! Don't worry, I won't be alone."

"You better promise me."

She made a cross motion over her heart. "I promise."

"Good. 'Til we meet again!" After a dramatic bow, they parted ways, and he made sure she was safe with her guards before rushing out of the square.

As he made it to the edge of the plaza, he heard an angry voice above him. "Flik! I'm comin' to getcha and you better let me pick you up!" He lifted up his arms to make it easier for Francis to grab him, and just as soon felt his bones become much lighter before the ground fell away from under him. There was no need to look up to see the clown was scowling at him. "You know, one of these days, you're gonna get us fired."

Flik winced, feeling guilty at once. "Did you really spend all day looking for me?"

"We all took turns. It's a good thing there's so many of us and only one of you."

"Hah, yeah, good thing." He was expecting a long rant, but nothing came, only the bubbling flaps that was Francis' signature flight sound. Confused by the pause, Flik looked up at the clown. "What? No lecture?"

"I'm not gonna waste my breath," Francis replied with a sigh. "Just tell me you weren't by yourself all day."

"I was with Dot," the amnesiac said, as if being accompanied by a child was valid supervision. "Well, her guards were there too, but they stayed out of the way."

"No jerk from yesterday?"

Flik glared up at him. "Hey, that isn't nice."

" _I'm_ not nice."

"Good point." The remorse began to settle, tapping its foot on his heart. It wasn't going to let up until he addressed that he wasted everyone's time. "I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd worry everyone like that. I just—"

"You feeling better today?"

The uncharacteristically soft tone and sudden change of topic caught him off guard. "What?"

Francis glanced down at him. "You were kind of out of it yesterday, but you seem happier now."

After giving the observation some thought, he then nodded a little. "Yeah, I guess I feel all right." His spirits rose and he beamed upon realizing that he didn't feel that haunting emptiness. Sure, he didn't feel quite complete, but he knew he was getting there. "I feel all right! I don't feel all that empty! Do you know what this means?!"

He swore he saw his friend smile just a little. "I guess we can let you off for today."

* * *

Atta collapsed onto her bed, but she felt no better nor was she relieved. Today was very suffocating: spent in lessons with cold teachers, in walls of guards who seemed more metal than people, and in a chamber that she did not have the freedom to leave at will. The air around her was always thick and stuffy, with no place for her to spread her wings, metaphorically. This had been her life for most of her twenty years, a lonely existence solely due to her being a Chosen Princess.

Therein rose that bitterness once again. She had never liked the title before, but she had grown to loathe it over the course of five years. Her whole life had been molded and controlled by that distinction, and she learned the hard way what happens when she stepped out of line.

Many tried to assure her that she was blessed, for she was one of two Chosen destined to restore their world with their union. The two of them would be immortalized and celebrated, just like many Chosen pairs before them. Instead, Atta was convinced she was doomed to be eternally bound to someone whom she (and many others) despised. The more she thought of it, the more she told herself it was not worth saving a paranoid and ungrateful world.

But sky-blue eyes and a pure smile always brought her back from the brink.

Her ears filled with a faint song which only she and her destined could hear, but it was nothing more than mockery to her. It taunted her, a constant reminder of her set future. Looking out her window, she glared at the offender: a floating castle in the sky that they called the Middle Ground. The gleaming white castle, with its sharp shapely spires tipped with royal blue and gold, looked like something out of a fairy tale, but it was the bane of her existence. It was this very thing that doomed her since birth, and would someday be her end.

The song of the Middle Ground faded as the sun slipped out of sight. Atta reached under her bed, desperate to hear something else, something that she knew would drown out the accursed requiem and bring her peace. Her hands grasped her music box, but her heart was heavy as she was forced to hear her broken treasure rattle at every movement. She had been so careful to keep its condition the same as it was the day she had gotten it, but the saying that nothing lasts forever just had to apply even to this.

When certain that no one would come by, the princess dared to turn the flowerless knob. A crooked smile formed as she heard the beloved melody come out, still unharmed after the tumble. The melancholy of the hopeful chimes resonated more in the ruined shelter they called home, but the appreciative joy they embodied still somehow pulled through.

"At least I still have _your_ song," Atta whispered, but she could not convince herself. Her eyes welled with tears and her teeth ground together in a vain attempt to push down her anguish. It seemed so silly to cry over a music box, but she could still clearly feel the love of the one who made it, and so it was precious.

As she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine the very first time it fell into her hands. She heard the squeaking of the flap at the door as she opened it, and the clatter of the food tray going through. The music box had been with her supper, hidden under a rectangular silver dome, just like many other gifts he had slipped in. She could see the wide yet shy grin of the servant boy as he urged her to turn the flower knob...

The fantasy died once she recalled the sound of frantic guards and screaming. All that was left of him now were his gifts and the sham.

"No, I shouldn't think of him like that," Atta scolded herself.

When she thought back to that boy, she felt an awful weight in her heart, remembering the pain and desperation on his face when he had fallen. He wasn't supposed to be suffering like that. He should have been living normally, given a second chance. Has he lived like that all these years?

And that name he carried… the very sound of it felt like a stab, like a label declaring to the world he was discarded. "What a horrible name."


	5. Prelude to Truth

**MERRY CHRISTMAS! Okay, I'm late. I wanted to get this out yesterday, but this chappie was so much more troublesome than the last. Thankfully, things are getting more interesting. For me.**

 **To all my readers, thank you for your patience! Those of you who reviewed, your kind words were what kept me going! I'll do my best not to go missing for another few months.**

 **Happy New Year!**

* * *

 **Prelude to Truth**

On the sand, well out of reach of the waves and well away from the grass, a campfire crackled and warmed the two bodies sitting by it. Under the crescent moon, with the crickets chirping and fireflies glowing around them, this seemed like the perfect setting for a romantic date. However, the couple wasn't quite a couple and they were using the fire for work rather than for mere warmth and atmosphere.

Pausing in his work, Flik breathed in the crisp forest air, cool and refreshing after being by the fire for so long. He and Princess Atta must have been working on the music box for about an hour or two, and they did have plenty of night left. Tonight was the first night of work, and he had decided that they would begin painting the box. If there was time left, they could reattach the lid. As for the flowers, he had an idea; but he needed the Princess' consent, because it involved modifying the lilies (which he learned were made of stone). Whatever the decision, he at least had everything they needed in his tool chest.

In his hands, he held the bottom part of the music box and a brush with some lavender paint. The box itself was resting on his palm so his fingers would not get in the way of nor mess up the new coat of color. He gave it a few swipes with the brush before carefully setting it down on a metal plate to dry, as he just finished repainting. "How're you holding up, Princess?" he asked his temporary helper, who was working on the lid.

"Almost… there!" The lid soon joined its partner on the plate. "How long do we need to wait? Will we be able to finish this today?"

He had to refrain from chuckling, but it was funny to see the normally graceful Princess so impatient. "We just started. I can probably reattach the lilies to the lid tonight, but I might have to modify them a bit."

"What do you mean?"

"I have some ideas on how to better keep them on the box," he began to explain. "I may have to cut and sand off some of the bottom portions of the lilies. The problem before was that they had very little surface area glued on the lid."

"I-I see." Princess Atta stared at the fire, her eyes seeming faraway.

Flik understood her hesitance. He could tell the flowers were personally sculpted, and by her special person. "I could just glue them back as is, but they could still easily fall off, and putting a bunch of glue on them for better grip wouldn't look good." He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. I can't think of much else right now."

"No, it's fine. Do what you have to," she told him. "It's just… I already told you it's the last thing he—my friend, that is—made for me. I don't want to change it, but I guess it's too late if it's broken." She let out a little laugh, but it wasn't very cheerful. "You'll make it look good, right?"

"Of course!" he assured eagerly. "I won't remove too much. They're a bit too long and too close together, anyway." Reaching into his tool chest, he pulled a sculpting knife and some sand paper.

"Should I work on one, too?"

"I'll do it all. I don't want you to end up blaming yourself if you slip." Grabbing a lily, he began scraping the bottom little by little. He felt his heart beat along with every scritch-scratch, and he used this to time his strokes. "You can watch, though. Wanna sit closer?"

"I-I can see just fine from here."

He sent a playful pout her way. "Aw, okay." His attention soon returned to the lily. "Now, for sculpting, patience is of utmost key..." The lily shortened more and more with every instructional sentence, until it became a much more natural size and shape. "Done! Here, paint this while I get started on another."

Cleaning her brush and coating it with white, Princess Atta took the lily and got to work immediately.

Only the crackling fire and scritch-scratching knife conversed, but Flik started to become restless. "You know, this would go much quicker if we had something to talk about."

Once again, the Princess seemed dodgy. "Shouldn't you concentrate on your work?"

"Don't worry, I won't mess up," he promised. "I've already had enough of silence, anyway. Having someone to talk to really is a good way to pass work and time."

"You're telling me you won't get too distracted?"

'I won't! I'll be very careful with your memento!" He cut and scraped very carefully, eying the bases and measuring them in his head.

A few minutes passed by before he heard the sound of stone on metal plate, followed by the Princess' voice: "Give me the last one."

"Hm? Don't worry! I'll handle it."

"I want to do it," she insisted, reaching for the last flower between them. "Do you have a spare knife?"

"In my tool chest, but you can take this one." He turned the blade down and reached it out to her. "Are you sure, though? I really can work on all three."

"I'll have you check it over." Carefully, she took the handle.

In the firelight, he saw blemishes on her hands, calluses that surely did not belong on the hand of a princess. Not completely noticeable, of course, but the rough white patches were there. Her fingers even brushed over his, and they felt mildly stiff. This hand that took the knife was a crafter's hand.

"Huh," he breathed in awe.

All too soon, Princess Atta drew back. "What is it?"

"You've got rough hands." Seeing her shock, and realizing what he just said, Flik nearly dropped the unfinished lily in his hands. "N-n-not that there's anything wrong with that! I mean, they're still lovely, strong hands!" he sputtered, and the better part of his mind told him he was just making things worse. "Just—just forget I said that. Oh man, why did I go and say that?" He hid his face in his hands, expecting the worst.

He heard laughter instead.

Peeking through his fingers, he saw her hugging her stomach as she laughed at him. In his confusion, his hands dropped to the sand. "Pr-Princess?"

"Yes?" she managed between giggles.

He didn't know whether to feel worried or relieved. "You're not mad?"

"Should I be?" she teased.

"Well, I mean—"

"You're fine, really," she interrupted, looking at her hands. "They are pretty rough, huh? Crafting will do that to you."

Flik perked up, getting excited at there being a kindred soul. "You craft?"

"Not as well as you can, but yes." Now calmed down, Princess Atta started carving the flower.

"What things have you made?" He leaned toward her, giving her his full attention.

"Mostly wood carvings, but…" she paused, considering her next words. "I made a telescope once."

Dot's words about a green telescope came to mind and Flik chuckled to himself. "I'd love to see it." He took the spare sculpting knife from his tool chest and went back to work. With this one, he had to be more careful, for it was duller than the other. "So, how did you get into crafting? It's definitely not easy to start."

Her voice became just a little shaky. "It wasn't, but I managed." As if to show off, she sped up until the lily noticeably shortened and compared it to the finished one. The satisfied smile on her face and the relieved sigh got Flik's heart beating.

He felt a strange warmth in his chest, a hint of something he never felt before, but knew had always belonged there. "Wow… You're a natural!"

"Not really. I just had a lot of free time." She shrugged as she went on to add the finishing touches to her lily. "Yet, despite it all, I have yet to make a music box of my own."

Flik glanced at the drying box, eying the knob. "What song does it play?"

A pause followed, and then, "I don't have a name for it yet."

"No name? It's an original?"

She nodded rather distractedly. "Mm-hm."

"Well, why not name the song after your friend?" he suggested.

Princess Atta shook her head. "It doesn't fit." To clarify, she added: "It's a beautiful and simple song, but it just doesn't fit his name."

He couldn't agree nor disagree, because he didn't even know the creator's name, so all he could do was keep working. "Then, how about 'For Princess Atta?'" he supplied. "If nothing else, he made it for you, right? Or did you make the tune and he just put it into a box?"

"His idea," she answered simply, "but I don't like that name either." After a bit of sanding, and comparing the lilies again, she finally put the knife down and began to paint the flower. "I want it to mean something more than just a memento or a gift."

Flik chuckled as he himself traded his knife for a paintbrush and dipped it in white. "You sure take this naming stuff seriously."

Somehow, the lighthearted air between them died down, but the Princess only looked contemplative. She never stopped painting, but she seemed less focused and the brush even painted her fingers from time to time. Maybe it was a mistake to try to joke about her choosing names. If not for the waves, crickets, or the crackling fire, the silence would have been unbearable.

Finally, she hummed and began to work more precisely. "Well, of course. Names are so much more than labels." Once she finished painting, she set the flower on the metal plate. Her eyes lingered on the drying pieces. "Your feelings, your hopes, and everything around you can influence the choice." She then faced her companion. "On top of that, our own names are our very first gifts. That's why I'm so picky about them. I want to give something truly meaningful."

All the while, Flik listened in awe. "Wow… I never would have thought of all that."

Her beautiful, nostalgic smile returned. "I never would have either, if I never met him." She brought her knees to her chest and rested her arms on them, staring out across the lake.

Flik finished painting the lily and set it with the others. "Did your friend teach you that philosophy?"

"No," she said tersely. "He just inspired me."

"So, what's his name?" When her smile disappeared, Flik wondered: "Did you forget it?"

In an instant, she glared at him. "I would never forget!" she snapped, causing him to flinch. She then gasped and looked away. "Sorry."

"D-don't worry about it." Flik was glad his hands were empty, for they shook from the sudden outburst. Princess Atta was quite scary when she was mad.

She let out a frustrated sigh. "You've probably guessed by now that he's gone," she confessed, her voice oddly steady. "That's why I can't tell you his name. It's all I have left of him."

Confused, he asked: "What about your music box?"

"That was for me. Whatever he made for me was supposed to belong to me," she continued. "His name can never be mine. Do you see what I mean?"

Flik nodded, feeling sympathy for her. "I understand." He smiled sadly, both jealous of and happy for this mystery man. "You loved him, didn't you?"

Again, Princess Atta kept quiet.

The two stayed this way for a long time, just sitting together on the sand while the paint dried. No one made a move to try to put anything together, even though they probably could have finished the box that night. Even when the fire died, neither moved to start it up again, leaving them both to the mercy of the chilled air.

At last, Princess Atta stood and gathered the pieces. "Um..."

"Yes?" Flik gave her his undivided attention.

She opened her mouth and closed it, averted her eyes yet bore into his, but had no words. After a while, she let out a defeated breath. "I'll tell you tomorrow. Promise you'll be here."

"Definitely!"

The Princess gave him a final, thankful grin before she flew off into the night.

* * *

Flik could barely pay attention to what the boss was saying. Here, in the backstage, everyone had gathered for a meeting about production over the past couple of days. It was one of the more important meetings, and the whole troupe had to attend, so here he sat on one of the boxes arranged into a circle around P.T. Flea.

The ringmaster certainly didn't look pleased, but he was still in one of his better moods. "...need to come up with some changes around here. We aren't the worst, but that's not good enough." He took out a stack of papers. "Here's feedback from the audience for the past couple of days." Clearing his throat, be began to read, starting with Rosie.

At this point, Flik just blanked. He brought a knee up and rested his chin on it. Seems that this will take a while, especially given how large the stack was, so he could sneak some moments of sleep.

"FLIK!" shrieked P.T., causing the mechanic to jolt awake. "Pay attention! Once the meeting is over, you can sleep!"

"Y-yessir, I'm listening!" He wanted to hide his face when he heard chuckling from the others.

"Good, 'cause it's your turn." P.T. huffed and straightened the papers. "You got a lot to do this time around, so you better not run off anymore. Got it?"

"Sure, but what's the job?"

"I'm not wastin' my time tellin' ya again. I'll let the rest of you repeat." P.T. flipped the papers and then set them down. "Now that we got it outta the way, listen! We got off to a pretty good start. Don't ruin it! I fired you all once, I can do it again." He then gestured toward the entrance. "All right, get outta here."

Flik was about to follow the clowns out, but a hand on his shoulder caught his attention. "What's up?" He followed the arm and saw Manny there.

"Come have a walk with us," said the magician, guiding him along.

"But I'm supposed to join the guys today."

"Yes, after lunch." Gypsy slid up to the two, casually floating along. "I'm sure you can spare a stroll."

A walk along the forest path did sound nice. "Sure." Flik followed the couple into the neighboring woods.

The trees and bushes were a beautiful deep green only fitting of the summer, lit up by the warm sunlight speckled through the leaves. Curious squirrels raced along tree trunks or watched the strangers passing by, chattering as if gossiping about them. Small birds were more courageous, going as far as to fly around Gypsy and twitter at her feathers, maybe wondering if she was a strange bird herself.

Giggling, she waved them away. "Time flies by so quickly, doesn't it?" she mused, turning toward Flik. "It seems just yesterday you were dashing to and fro, asking what everything was. Now, you're a grown man."

He gave her a small smile. "Well, I wasn't exactly a child when you found me."

Blinking, Gypsy turned her focus back onto the path. "That's true, but you were still quite young." Her shoulders slumped a little, but she showed no other sign of gloom. "Your life had just begun, yet you lost so much…"

Biting his lip in discomfort, Flik sought to lighten the mood. "Oh, it's not so bad!" he assured her. "Without my old memories, the trauma is gone, too. Besides, I didn't lose _everything_." He pressed a thumb to where his heart was. "I've got my name! Sure, it's just a few pieces, but it's something."

Last night's conversation surfaced to his mind, and he began to wonder about his real name. He liked his current one, of course; it was perky and fit him well, but it was a fragment of what it used to be. Did it have a meaning? Did it at least sound fitting? What would the one who named him—his mother or father, probably—think upon finding out that he couldn't remember? Was that person even still out there?

"Huh… What _was_ my real name?" he wondered aloud. "Do you think it had a good meaning?"

Gypsy hummed, putting a hand to her chin in thought. "That's new—asking about meaning, anyway. What brought this up?"

Now he stiffened. He had to be very careful, or else they'd find out about the late night meetings. "It's just… something I heard when I was out one day," he told her as naturally as he could. "Names are the first gifts we get, right? My parents must have given some thought into mine, and it's kinda sad that it's gone." He was relieved when the couple gave each other knowing gazes before giving him a sympathetic one.

Manny coughed into his sleeve, clearing his throat. "In that case, when your soul is stronger, we can take you to the Anterrian registry."

Flik became alert. "Really?"

"Of course, my boy. When you are able, you should be allowed to learn about your past." His golden eyes, however, were very serious. "But you may—will find a painful story, that much is clear. It can very well change you."

Gypsy nodded in agreement. "Yes. From what we know about Dying Memory, you went through something unbearable." She fidgeted her fingers before taking her husband's hand for support. "Maybe it's better not to know."

Now that they were warning him, Flik did feel trepidation. He'd already guessed that his past was a sad one, but it may even be worse than he thought. Did he really want to know what kind of person he was? For all he knew, he really could have been a criminal; he might have even hurt people. If that was the truth...

He steeled himself. Having lived these years in the dark, he could not stand being afraid anymore. "It does sound scary," he admitted, "but it's still my past. If I don't know it, I can't move on. I can't work on something that isn't there." More than anything, he wanted to _know_.

"It is settled. Tomorrow, after your therapy, we can go."

As if by a switch, Flik grew excited again. "You mean it?!" He threw his hands into the air. "Finally! Progress!" he shouted to the sky, not caring who could hear.

Tomorrow, everything was going to change.

* * *

Perplexed and irritated at having walked all this way for nothing, Francis tapped his foot on the ground. "What do you mean you aren't sellin' anymore cakes?"

The baker shrugged, quickly becoming put off by the volatile customer. "I'm sorry, ma'am—"

The poor fellow made a mistake.

"MA'AM?! Why, I oughtta—"

Turning Francis around, Slim pushed him toward the door. "Let me handle this." He then faced the baker and gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry about him. Now, what seems to be the matter?"

The baker shrugged again. "I simply don't have the resources. Egg deliveries have stopped now," he explained, sounding quite embarrassed. "Rumor has it the local farmers just can't get their chickens to lay any more eggs. Without eggs, I can't make cakes. If this keeps up, I would have to conserve wheat to survive the coming months."

The tall clown nodded in understanding. "So, it's that time." It was rather troubling that the world had already begun to decline, but only the royal families of Anterria and Grascae can restore it. Everyone else had to pray for a future. "Such is the world we live in."

"Yes. I'm truly sorry about all this. If the Union goes well this time, we should be right as rain next year." Quickly, the baker looked around his shop and toward the entrance before hushing his voice. "Though, if I must be honest, I fear for the future. The Sky King is nefarious and five years ago—"

Not one for gossip, Slim excused himself. "Ah, well, I wish you the best. Good day." He stepped back outside, where his friends waited. "So, as it turns out, he's out of eggs."

Heimlich was quite distraught. "Vat kind of party has no cake? Ve can't go back like zis!"

"Now, now, we don't need cake to have a birthday party," Slim assured. "We just need to explain this to the others and figure out what to do."

"Explain what?" a child's voice piped, causing the men to look for its source. They saw a familiar little girl next to Francis. "You're Flik's friends, aren't you?"

"Hey, whatcha doin' out here, Princess?" Francis asked, quickly calmed down. "Flik isn't goin' out today."

"Call me 'Dot,'" the Anterrian princess insisted. "And I know he's busy. I just came here to buy some bread." She held up a little wicker basket topped with a pink bow. "So, what do you need?"

Before Slim and Francis could answer, Heimlich chimed: "A cake!"

Dot tilted her head. "Cake?"

Francis sighed. "The kid's birthday is tomorrow. Or adopt… day—you get the idea."

"But the baker can no longer acquire eggs," Slim added quickly. "In preparation of the future, we may have to forego the cake."

The young princess simply smiled, quirking an eyebrow. "Well, if you need a cake, I can get the royal baker to make one," she offered.

Slim knelt down. "You're quite generous, Your Highness—"

"Dot!"

"Ah, yes, Dot. Anyway, that's very generous of you, but we can't impose."

"It's a gift!" she insisted, pointing her hand to the air as if in revelation. "You won't stop me from giving a friend a gift, right?"

And they were at a loss. They looked to each other while Dot just smirked triumphantly. The way she quickly came up with the idea was uncannily similar to a certain someone's…

"That... solves our problem," Francis reasoned slowly.

"Und zere vill be cake," Heimlich agreed.

Slim weighed everything. The ingredients used for the cake could be used instead to prepare for the months after the Union. Relief from a period of shortage far outweighed the cost of a cake, but the princess was likely to go through with her idea anyway. The clowns had no feasible way to stop her; she had a certain stubborn air about her.

Here's to hoping her baker knew better. "Do as you like."

The princess jumped with glee. "Great! I'll have it tomorrow!" She marched through into the bakery to finish her errand, and the clowns began the trek back to the fair.

"So, 'out of eggs,' huh?" Francis asked Slim curiously. "Why's that?"

"The world has begun to decline," the tall clown explained. "Temporarily, of course, but we should ask Manny and Gypsy for advice. They _did_ experience the last one."

Around them, the capital was still bustling. Children and cheerful adolescents ran through the streets without a care, shrieking in delight. The citizens went on with their daily lives: shopping, dining, or working at shops or restaurants. Carriages still passed and horses still trotted with healthy clip-clops. Some luxurious venues were downgrading into simpler menus, but they seemed to still have enough patrons to get by. Even so, though there was no need to panic, they had to prepare. Throughout history, the declines were always gradual.

"How long do you think this will last?"

Slim didn't answer. Rather, he was disturbed by the baker's last words. Five years ago, something happened that caused him to lose hope in the future. At the same time, Flik was dropped off at their camp. It was a stretch—a very long stretch—but something in the back of his mind urged him to at least try to find out if the events were related.

And if they were, he may very well discover a grave injustice.


	6. On the Line

**This is the longest chapter I've written yet, and once again a tough one! Even so, it's totally worth it and I hope to keep writing long and content-filled yet well-paced chapters. Many thanks to my good friend for test-reading and listening to me blabber his ear off!**

 **Once again, I really, _really_ appreciate all the comments I've gotten. So far, it seems like you're all enjoying it, which warms my heart right after every notification scares it to death. Like always, I hope you enjoy the chapter, and let's get on with the show!**

 **By the way, I highly recommend listening to "Theme of Love" from _Mother 3_. You'll see why.**

* * *

 **On the Line**

As a Chosen of the Middle Ground, Atta had been told she didn't need to concern herself too much with the affairs of the kingdom. They said it was because she was already shouldered with a huge responsibility, though she suspected they simply saw no point. After all, if she was going to leave anyway, why should they concern themselves with catching her up?

But she was still Anterria's princess, and she refused to let that title go to waste in leisure.

Sorting through and organizing the last of the documents, she let out a sigh of finality. There were a great many stacks of bills, petitions, and concerns all over the round marble table. Some had even been left unresolved for a month. With a workload like this, she could not, in good conscience, leave her mother to carry everything on her own. Thankfully, her queen mother was a reasonable woman; it didn't take much to convince her to let the princess to learn and get involved with her work. So long as the Queen was with her, she was allowed to handle even some serious aspects of the politics.

Atta had come across quite a few interesting scenarios in her line of work. There was a time that she had to settle a property dispute, where one man claimed he owned a portion of his neighbor's lemon tree that began to grow over his land. She'd ruled he could own whatever fruits fell from the tree, as they would no longer be attached to the neighbor in any way. In another case, some peasants renting a lord's land complained that he took too much food from them as payment without negotiation. She'd found that the lord had overtaxed the peasants so they had no means to move away, and no bribe could have turned the ruling in his favor. Lastly—and she would giggle at this one—she remembered a bizarre bill about limiting sweets sales out of concern for the people's health. However, what each person did was nobody's business, so she threw the bill out.

Yes, she'd rather not let her mother deal with such specific trifles.

It was hard work, but she quite enjoyed it. So much time before the decision was invested in research, but she found that keeping occupied made her existence feel more worthwhile and less like some sort if emergency leverage. Every choice she made meant something, and there was a catharsis when someone's life changed for the better.

Most importantly, being busy distracted her from the gaping hole in her life and the tragedy that caused it, especially on this day.

Furiously shaking her head to clear it, Atta pressed her nose into the scroll in her hands. It was public petition, usually set up in the marketplace, for passersby and concerned citizens to read and write their thoughts. This topic was about the fair, which was supposed to last a month. Some wanted to end it early in light of the declines, to save money and resources that otherwise would be wasted in celebration; others insisted they keep the fair to lighten spirits, and the tourism could add money to the coffers to use in emergency projects.

They seemed to agree that they should dismiss the circus early, however.

"You seem troubled." The Queen took the papers and skimmed them, setting her previous stacks aside. Her brows furrowed in sympathy. "What do you think of this?"

"It can't be helped," Atta said too quickly. "Nobody can control when the world starts to decay." Frankly, it made things easier for her. The sooner they left, the sooner he could be out of harm's way; that is, if the truth about her didn't drive him away first.

Tonight was going to be a very crucial and delicate night. She had to be sure she only told the truth about herself, and only enough for him to know how this world worked and why. He had to know why, once the music box was finished, they could never meet again. If she said the wrong thing, he was going to cling to that clue even if the truth tore him apart. She didn't want to think of what would happen if he started putting the pieces together, realizing they fit, and breaking down at the sheer weight of it all. No, she didn't want to see him writhing, trying to rip out his heart again, and staring at her this time with betrayal.

He must never know that he'd been helping the very woman responsible for his agony.

The answer seemed obvious, but then the princess started to second-guess herself. What would become of him if the circus left early? As she had seen, half of them were—using their term—freaks. If they couldn't support themselves, what would become of them? What would become of _him_? Was she really willing to cast him out that way?

Was she ready to let him go?

"Then again, they aren't using anything they didn't pay for," she added hastily, her mind racing to refute her previous statement. "Furthermore, the taxes we gather from them can add to the coffers. They can make a difference in… um…" If she kept her distance—

"Atta"—the Queen sounded urgent, almost as if she was begging—"you know you can tell me anything." She stepped out of her chair, moving to her daughter's side of the table. An unsteady, hesitant hand went to the princess' cheek and cupped it, guiding her face so that their eyes met. "You haven't been sleeping."

Suddenly self-conscious, Atta brushed her off and covered her left eye. She had to choose her words carefully, lest she put him at risk again. "I'm just having some off days," she claimed. "I'll pull through."

"Is it because of today?"

An idea quickly formed. Clearly, her mother thought she was mourning again. It wasn't completely untrue, but she could use that to hide the full truth, to protect him. "Are you going to ask me to get over it?" she asked, sounding more hostile than intended. If it added to the façade, then all the better. "I know what they think: that five years is more than enough time to mourn. I should forget about him, isn't that right?"

She almost felt bad when her mother lowered her head in shame, backing away. "No, of course not."

Scratch that, Atta felt absolutely awful. "Back to the topic at hand," she said, retrieving the petition. "Let's have the fair remain active while there's a sizeable crowd. The resulting revenue can be saved for the recovery period." Taking a quill and a blank paper in hand, she began drafting a response. "The circus can stay, too."

The Queen returned to her side of the table. "Very well," she approved.

For a long time, neither of them said a word to one another. It was almost a relief, as Atta could just get lost in the symphony of scratching quills and shuffling sheets. Petitions, deals, and bills were relatively emotionless. If she could only weigh costs, there would he no room to dwell on the past.

However, the tentative peace wouldn't last. "You have every right to feel as you do," her mother declared. "It's better that you remember the ones you love." She sounded more certain, but did not look back up. "Those memories will motivate you to do the right thing."

Atta didn't quite believe that, not after the last couple of nights. The right thing would have been to refuse that boy's offer to fix the music box, or let him work on it without her and finish sooner. She could have at least told him about the risks he was taking, so he could weigh the costs before making the offer in the first place. Instead, she took advantage of his lack of knowledge and his desire to be helpful, all to fulfill the desires of her memories.

She was being selfish once again.

They say that those who forget history are doomed to repeat it; what did they say about those who remembered?

* * *

Past the silk, the soft blue lights, and the harp, Flik was really no different than a toy bird on a string. If he wasn't in the middle of an aerial silks duet, which required a sort of serious and graceful attitude, he would have chuckled at the thought. Maybe he still could, seeing as no one would be able to see nor hear anything while he glided over the fascinated crowds.

If there was one thing he loved more than tinkering, it was flying. He loved the feeling of the wind brushing through his hair, the idea of being able to get somewhere much faster than he could walk, and how different things appeared when he looked down.

Sadly, he wasn't born with the power of flight, but aerial silks were the next best thing.

Oh, it wasn't easy. His skill level was nothing compared to Rosie's years, yet he was expected to be able to support his body with a single arm. Couple that with having the full weight of his bones rather than the flyer's magic hollowing, and he expected to be completely sore after the show.

As if to remind him of his novice, his legs faltered and bent. His sure façade broke and he panicked a moment, straightening them again immediately. It came at such a bad time, while his flight was slowing down. The audience must have seen it all, or did he just imagine the gasp?

The glaring mistakes were embarrassing now that he was performing, but he tried to tell himself that they could have been much worse. At least he and Rosie opted for an easy-to-remember mix of on-ground dancing, drops, and swings in lieu of some elaborate interpretive performance. Neither P.T. nor the audience seemed to care as long as there was a duet that consisted of stunts they themselves couldn't do. This was the one time Flik was glad the circus wasn't the best in the business.

After descending for the final stretch of the act, he ran the circumference of the ring with his arms spread behind him and his hands holding tightly to the edges of his silk line. The white cloth flowed behind him like a cape that seemed to grow longer and longer. Soon, he was lifted up for the last time, and the excess silk trailed like a phoenix's tail. He tried to keep himself as parallel to the ground as possible, but his quivering body still slanted. Hopefully, the tail would distract from that. From the corner of his eye, he saw the more experienced Rosie effortlessly pulling the same feats.

Slowly, the diameter of their circle got smaller and smaller, bringing them closer and closer together for the finale. They reached out for each other right before collision, locking arms and bending their knees as they spun in a dizzy blur of blue-and-white and red-and-black. The lights followed suit, changing to purple to fit the arguably romantic tone.

Flik imagined Princess Atta in Rosie's place.

It was only an instant, but his cheeks became hot and he hoped the colorful spotlight hid the blush. It was a good thing neither performer had to face at each other's face this time, or Rosie would have surely noticed something.

The harp played its final chords, signalling Flik to let go of his line. Still twirling, he hung from Rosie's hand and the rest of him turned parallel to the ground again. He righted himself as they began to descend to the fading music, facing her all the while and flashing an assuring and confident grin.

Then his feet touched the ground, the act ended, and the audience applauded. P.T. came out from the backstage to announce the intermission, taking the spotlight so the performers could leave under the cover of dimness.

"Not bad for your first silk act," Rosie said once they were backstage. "Do you feel any soreness? I know we agreed on this set, but—"

"Just a little." An understatement if there ever was one, though he didn't think much of it. "Wow, how do you do this everyday?"

The silk dancer smiled with a touch of pride. "Lifetime of practice," she answered. "Believe me, even I have trouble sometimes. This is not the best profession to have four extra legs in."

Someone clapped nearby. "Yet you look so natural." Gypsy appeared as if out of nowhere behind Rosie, true to being a magician's assistant. "That was quite the performance. I'd bet quite a few onlookers would have liked to dance with one of you."

Now without the protection of a colored light, the red on Flik's face was much clearer. "R-really?" He averted his eyes and tried to look anywhere else, if only to gather his mind again. "No, I wasn't that good…"

He couldn't help wondering how Princess Atta would react if she saw the performance. Would she be impressed? If she danced, would she fly or would she take up a silk line as well? Would she use her flyer's hollowing? Maybe she would ask him to teach her, if she was interested. The very idea made his heart skip and flip.

"Hey, what did you do to the poor kid?" he heard Francis ask, though he was clearly amused by whatever was happening. "What's so funny?"

How long had the ladies been giggling?

"I bet he's thinking of someone," Gypsy suggested. Being a married woman, she would obviously have hit the mark. "So, who's the lucky lady?"

Next to Francis, Heimlich put his hands to his face in mock shock. "No vay! Did Flik find his true love?"

Flailing his hands, Flik backed away. "No, I didn't! Honest!"

"That's exactly what someone with a crush _would_ say," Rosie singsonged, and everyone cornered him.

He was about to deny it once more when he felt knocking on his leg. Glancing down, he saw Tuck and Roll grinning mischievously at him, one of them making kissy faces. In the gap in the crowd, he could even see Dim smiling knowingly.

"See? Even they get it," said Francis.

"You've all got it wrong!"

"Ladies, gentlemen, please," Slim cut in, hands out to diffuse the situation, "leave the poor fellow alone." At this, Flik began to sigh in relief, but he caught the playful gleam in the tall man's eyes too late. "Clearly, he's in the denial stage and requires a grace period."

"Slim, you traitor!"

"Knowing him, a 'grace period' means waiting until it's too late," Francis said, to which the others agreed. "What he needs is some guts."

Gypsy giggled. "You know, Manny was quite—"

The tent exit flapped as the magician in question burst through. "Not another word!"

"Oh, perfect timing!" the feathered woman strode to her husband. "Manny, do you have any advice for our little Flik?"

Manny's face had gone pale at the inescapable mistake he'd made. "My dear, hasn't he been tormented enough?"

"Says the man who hid while we surrounded the poor boy," Gypsy pouted, giving him a kiss on the cheek and causing him to blush.

"I was meditating." Manny regained his composure and addressed the others. "My friends, we should leave him to his own devices. Even if he is smitten, you won't pry anything out of him."

Though disgruntled, Flik really thought that was the end of it. "There we go. Now—"

But the older man wasn't done. Still completely serious, he told them: "He has a tendency to spill his secrets on his own."

The second round of betrayal was probably more painful than the first. "Aw, not you too!" Flik groaned and covered his heated face while absolutely everyone guffawed at him. Despite himself, he just couldn't resist their infectious laughter.

"What's goin' on over here? I can hear ya from outside!" The mechanic thanked his lucky stars as, finally, the group quieted down and spread out as P.T. Flea stood at the curtain, tapping his foot. "Anyway, break time's over. Francis, Slim, Heimlich, you're up!" He hopped back out to announce the clowns.

"Aw, und vee vere having so much fun," said the green clown as he headed out.

"Well then, I suppose we have to wait until you're ready," Slim said as he ruffled Flik's hair, much to his displeasure. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He left soon after that.

Francis followed after the tall clown. "I'm gonna be your best man, got it?" he chuckled before the curtain closed.

"Now should be a good time to get ready," Gypsy said, still giggling. "We didn't go too far with the teasing, did we?" Her magenta eyes reflected some concern.

Flik beamed at her to reassure her. "Not at all. I had fun, see?"

"Oh, good. I'll be out back if you need anything." The feathered woman strode away.

Before exiting himself, Manny gave a small smile to the mechanic. "Sorry, my boy, but the opportunity had presented itself." He probably regretted nothing at all.

"I'm going to go fix up some treats for Dim," Rosie said next, leading the rhinoceros away. "Let us know when it's time for the finale."

Tuck and Roll left last, still waggling their eyebrows even as they pranced away. They were probably going to keep making fun of him for a while, and he didn't know enough of their language to tell them to knock it off. It might even be fruitless.

Now that he was alone at last, Flik completely relaxed and rested on a lone box near the back of the tent. Seeing as he wasn't going to be part of the finale tonight, he could take this opportunity to catch up on sleep. Even he wasn't immune to fatigue, after all.

He smiled wryly to himself. Obviously, he wasn't going to tell them, but his friends were probably right about him having a crush. He couldn't think of any other reason why he anticipated yet another secret meeting with Princess Atta. Maybe he could chalk it up to really enjoying her company and seeing her as a dear friend, but the warmth in his heart told him otherwise.

No one else could make him feel like he had a normal soul.

There was just something about her that moved him in ways nobody else could. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted to know about her. He already loved her willingness to learn, her proficiency with the sculpting knife, her thoughtful philosophy, and the kindness she showed him on the night they met. He couldn't wait to see what else he could learn tonight.

" _I'll tell you tomorrow."_ She did say those words, didn't she? They sounded very important, too. That she would entrust him with something so big excited him.

He couldn't wait for midnight.

* * *

Maybe he could have waited for midnight.

"Just a few steps…" Giving up, Flik set his tool chest down once again for his arms to rest. They should have gone back to normal by now, but the aches had gotten worse over time. He'd lost count of how many times he had to stop. "I should've gotten an ice pack or something."

Taking up the box again, he tried to hurry to the edge of the forest, already seeing the breaks in the trees. He was close enough to see the shimmer of the waters lit by moonlight. Thankfully, his legs and torso fared much better, though also a bit sore, and he could quicken his pace just a bit.

Upon reaching the edge, he spotted and smiled at a familiar woman's silhouette sitting by a fire. "Princess Atta!" he called to her.

She turned towards him immediately, getting up to meet him. "You made it!" she breathed, sounding relieved for some reason. It didn't last as her brows furrowed. "Did something happen?"

"It's nothing, really," he assured her, putting his tool chest down again.

"But you look tired." Before he could respond, she took one of his wrists. The ache shot up and he winced, which she apparently noticed. "What happened?"

Flik tried not to let his grin falter. "Just a performance!" he said rapidly, lightly tugging at his wrist. He wasn't sure how to feel about her firm hold. "I was part of the aerial silk act today."

Cue the confusion. "Aerial silks? You're not just a clown?" She finally let go, much to his relief.

"I'm a backup," he clarified, pointing to himself with pride. "Whenever an act needs an extra or the boss gets an idea, I'm the guy they go to. Of course, that also means I have to be ready for anything." He bent down to take the tool chest again, though he didn't lift it yet. "Though, if I have to be honest, an aerial duet is not a good idea to pitch on short notice."

Princess Atta pushed his hands off the tool chest and took it herself. "In that case, you didn't have to bring your tools," she said, exasperated. In a slightly quieter voice, she added: "We could have worked tomorrow."

Flik's grin became mischievous. "Oh? Do you like working together?"

She huffed and looked away. "I won't make you work while you're in pain!" she exclaimed, quite flustered. "Anyway, since you're already here _and_ you brought tools, I guess I'll finish the music box alone." Quickly, she headed back to the fire. "I'll carry the tool chest, too."

Slightly thankful for the help, though also a bit guilty, Flik followed her. "Hey, it's bad customer service to make you do the rest of the work," he joked. "All we need to do today is reattach everything. Easy peasy."

"You need a steady and painless hand to do it right," she quipped back.

"But I'm—"

"Just accept the help and move on!" The Princess sounded annoyed, but she was laughing at the same time. "Honestly, you try so hard to be all give and no take. It's all so…" She trailed off and gasped, stopping in her tracks.

Stopping as well, Flik could probably guess what—or whom—she was thinking about. "I'm guessing he was like that, too?"

Her posture slacked a bit and she didn't say anything. After a time, she just flew towards the campfire, placed the tool chest down, and flew back to him. "Can I carry you? You should rest as soon as possible."

His cheeks warmed and he hoped she couldn't see the blush. "Uh… sure." Instantly, she hovered behind him and wrapped her arms around him. His heart began to pound. "Wha—?!"

"Your arms hurt, don't they?" She lifted him up and sped toward their belongings, gently letting him down on the sand. "Okay, I'll let you know if I need help with the music box." With that, she opened the tool chest, grabbed a jar of glue and a brush, and began to apply the glue to a stone flower.

Flik glanced over at the music box nearby. From the looks of it, all it needed was for the stone flowers, the hinge, and the daisy knob to be put back in their rightful places. His eyes narrowed at the hinge. Recalling the night before, he remembered that the music box didn't have any holes. The hinge must have been glued on, and that would be too easy to snap.

Reaching out, he took the small metal piece and examined at it with the fire's light. Indeed, he saw that there were four holes. "This thing was supposed to be nailed down."

Princess Atta paused. "What?" she asked warily.

"The hinge. It was meant to be nailed to the box." As with the flowers, he wasn't about to make modifications without her permission. "I guess we could make do with the glue, but it won't snap so easily with nails. I should have the right size in my tool chest."

The Princess stared at the hinge, and then her music box, and back at the hinge. She sighed sadly. "How steady is your hand?"

Flik checked his arm; it hurt, but only when he moved it roughly or put pressure on it. "Pretty steady. As long as I don't move it suddenly, everything should be fine."

She considered it for a moment, before giving him a quiet "Do what you have to."

He nodded and took a tiny hand drill from his tool chest, along with a small bag of twisting nails, a small clamp for fastening, and a ruler. The bottom of the music box was the first to be worked on, and he was more careful with it than with anything else he ever worked on. He checked the dimensions again and again before picking the area to drill. The hinge helped him compare and choose exactly where to place the nails. After the main part of the box was finished, he did the same for the lid.

In all the focus, he'd forgotten the pain.

He'd just finished reattaching the hinge—which reunited the two largest parts of the music box—when he felt eyes boring into him. Peering up, he saw Princess Atta staring right at him. "Do you need something, Princess?" he asked.

Blinking twice, and apparently surprised at herself, she went right back to her stone flower. "Nothing." She cleaned off the excess glue and put the brush away for a bit. "Actually, help me place this."

Flik held the music box and placed the ruler on top for her. He watched as she also checked the dimensions over and over until she settled on placing the flower slightly above the center. It stayed as she let it go, and she took it as a sign to rinse and repeat for the next two.

The daisy knob was the last and easiest piece. It didn't need to be glued, but only snapped in its rightful spot. This final stretch was a sweet respite after all the hard work they had done for the last couple of nights.

The music box was finally complete. "It's… It's finished…" The Princess' eyes met his and her smile was so radiant. "Thank you. This means so much to me." Gingerly, she picked up the box and held it as close as she could without disturbing the still-drying flowers.

"I'm glad I can help!" Flik chirped. "With all the improvements, it should last for a long time!"

A cold chill shot through his veins. Now that the music box was fixed, there was no reason for Princess Atta to come back. This might be their last meeting… ever. The joy he felt for her started to morph into bittersweetness and then a sort of loss.

Her expression became conflicted, almost as if she read his mind. "Yes, it should." She sounded a lot less enthusiastic now, too.

Flik became hopeful, gathering that maybe she felt as he did and wanted to keep visiting. "Um… You know, I—"

"Would you like to listen?" she interrupted. Her hand was hovering over the daisy knob.

He could hardly believe his ears; he let the interruption slide. "Can I really?" he asked softly. "But isn't it a gift for you?" Unsure as he was, he couldn't stop eying the box.

Princess Atta grinned. "People show off their gifts," she said. "You've worked so hard on this, so I think you deserve to know what's inside." She turned the knob a few times, and then let it play.

The tune was simple as a child's lullaby; it could be played on a piano with one hand. It was also very slow and quite possibly very easy to replicate if he tried, sticking to one speed with little variation. There was melancholy as well, like the prelude to a farewell, maybe not something for a sunny day.

Beyond all those things, Flik could feel every bit of love poured into the melody. In its simplicity, its message was clear; in its slowness, there was time to absorb it; in its melancholy, it reflected sincerity. From all these, there spawned a warmth that melted the world away.

Eventually, the tune faded and the music box closed. Upon returning to reality, the first thing he noticed was Princess Atta's eyes. Her gaze was intense and… expectant?

"What do you think?" she asked him. She sounded different, but he couldn't place how.

It probably wasn't anything important. "It's… How do I describe it?" Simple? Warm? Bittersweet? "Love. That's all I felt from it."

Her expression became unreadable. "Love…" she repeated, looking back down at her treasure. "You're the only other person to think of it that way." Her fingers traced the edges of one of the carved leaves. She let out a rather long sigh. "It does fit…"

Flik couldn't decide whether to engage or wait patiently, but he did keep quiet in his indecision. He was a bit worried about the Princess' behavior. He could tell she was shouldering a lot, but it seemed off for her to be so faraway like this.

Finally, she ended the silence. "You know, today is the anniversary of the day I got the music box," she said fondly, but very softly.

He perked up immediately. "Really?" He smiled at the box. "Must be real neat to have finished it today, then. Happy birthday, little buddy!" He'd expected giggling, but heard nothing but waves and fire cracks. "Princess?"

"I promised to tell you something important today, didn't I?"

He wasn't sure whether or not to feel relieved, hearing how sad and tired she sounded. "You did, but you don't have—"

"No, it has to be now." She set her box down and clenched her hands into fists. Taking a few heavy breaths, she turned her gaze towards the sky, above the lake. "Look over there. Do you see a floating castle?"

Flik followed her gaze and saw, approaching the moon, the landmass in question. It was so far away, but he could see the silhouette of the castle. The land was so high up that no flyer could ever reach it. "It's the Middle Ground!"

"You know about the Middle Ground?"

"Well, only that it's our world's heart," he admitted sheepishly. "I never really thought much else of it."

"Then I'll start from the beginning." Now she had his attention. She seemed reluctant, but she was true to her word and pressed on. "Yes, the Middle Ground does maintain the world balance, but it can't seem to do it alone. Once in a while, since the very start, it would choose one royal from each of two kingdoms: Anterria and Grascae." After a pause, she continued: "As you can guess, I'm Anterria's Chosen."

In light of this impromptu history lesson, Flik was already forming questions. "Oh? So what are you supposed to do?"

Princess Atta's expression soured a bit. "When the world starts to decay, I and my partner are meant to go through a ceremony called 'the Union.' From there, we go to the Middle Ground itself and the balance gets restored, but we don't come back." She bit back a growl and she glared at the ground, refusing to look up at the Middle Ground any longer. "The whole thing is nothing but an arranged marriage. To top it all off, my intended is the worst kind of person to be a Chosen: completely selfish and cruel."

Something about that just didn't sit right. "How can that be? Maybe it's all a mistake."

"I wish it was, but he had the signs." The Princess turned and her eyes once again bore into his. "Look into my left eye. What do you see?"

So he looked and saw something odd, sitting on her pupil and covering the top half of her iris. "It looks like a tiara."

"That's the Middle Ground's Mark," she explained. "My betrothed has a similar one in his right eye. That's how everyone knows. We can also hear the Middle Ground singing, but it's more to soothe us than to prove anything." She sighed and pursed her lips. "Lately, though, it's just been grating, like it's been mocking me."

Flik's heart went out for her, ached at her predicament. "That's awful…" He spied the music box and his blood chilled. "What about your lover?"

"We weren't lovers," she denied, voice dripping with regret. She began to tremble and she brought a hand to her face, lowering her eyes so that her hair covered them. "Because the fate of the world rests on us Chosen, laws were made to make sure we didn't get too attached to anyone." The campfire highlighted the tears that dropped to the sand. "Gods help those… whom we loved…"

"Oh no…" He reached for her, to comfort her. "Oh, Princess…"

"Don't," she muttered and moved away, gathering her music box. Getting to her feet, she refused to face him. "I should have told you from the start. I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be," Flik tried to reassure her. "You must have been very lonely."

Slowly, she nodded. "I was, but I can't be selfish anymore." Finally the Princess lifted her face. "On the very day he gave me this music box, he was taken from me. I don't want to see it happen again." She dried her face as best she could. "You understand, don't you? This is our last meeting."

"I…" He didn't want that. "...yeah…" He wanted to keep seeing her, even if they were only friends, but he didn't want her to keep hurting. If parting ways gave her peace of mind, then he was glad to have met her at all. "Thank you, Princess Atta."

She smiled gratefully. "No. Thank _you_ , Flik. For everything." Her wings materialized, glistening in the firelight, but she did not move. "Oh, I forgot the payment."

He smiled wryly. "Don't worry about it. Really."

"But…" she started, then fell silent. "Okay." Her wings started to buzz.

"Wait!" Flik couldn't believe what he just said.

"Yes?"

What did he hope to say, now that she paused? It had to be worth her time. Every second spent deciding was another added to the debt. What can he say? What _should_ he say?

 _I'll miss you._

 _I like you._

 _I love you._

"I'll never forget you."


	7. Tentative Normality

***peeks into the page* Hey there! Been a while, but I'm alive! I'm sorry I couldn't get this out in 2019, but better late than never? Real life can be such a nuisance sometimes. *le sigh***

 **For my loyal readers, I thank you sincerely for being so patient with me. Please continue to enjoy the story, and I'll be sure to keep writing.**

 **Oh, and Happy New Year!**

* * *

 **Tentative Normality**

It was bright when Flik woke, sunlight filtering into his crawl space through small side windows in his caravan. Normally, he would have gotten up energetic and well-rested, but he felt the opposite. He shouldn't expect anything different after dozing off so late in the night. Instead of sleeping peacefully, he had tossed and turned and tried to keep his void in check until he finally drifted off.

Even now, he was still thinking of Princess Atta.

 _"Can you make her happy?"_ Dot had asked him on the very night they met. At the time, he'd wondered what he could offer to someone who should have everything, but now he knew better. He knew _her_ better.

It couldn't have been easy for Princess Atta to have the whole world on her shoulders. He didn't even want to think of adding her loneliness and grief into the mix. How heavy was her heart from those painful memories, with the "good old days" to reminisce about? Flik couldn't imagine even a fraction of her pain. In hindsight, fixing a music box with her couldn't possibly offset all that.

So he spent what little of the night left racking his brain for _something_ he could do for her. It was still a work in progress. He couldn't change how the world worked, and he didn't dare consider talking her out of her duty. There was nothing he could buy that she couldn't obtain herself. Fixing the music box didn't count as helping, since he broke it in the first place. No, he needed to give her something else, something only he could make, something she could use and never get tired of!

He began to mutter in his ponderings. "What happens once she gets to the Middle Ground, anyway?" he asked as he peeked outside his small window, spotting the floating castle. He began feeling uneasy. "She's just… gonna live there, right?" Princess Atta never mentioned anything about dying, but why else would no one know what happened at the Middle Ground. "But what if she does live and I give her something useless? This is so… so… _ugh_!"

Just as it seemed he was about to get a headache, he began to hum. The song that came out was a soothing collection of melodies that popped up in his head and it had been the reason he'd been able to fall asleep. It would have been the perfect tune for a music box, and it would go along well with Princess Atta's.

But Flik didn't want to outdo someone else's final work.

Still no other ideas came to mind, but he always thought better on his feet than on his back. "Maybe all I need is some fresh air," he said after a while, then his eyes brightened and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, I'll ask Dot for her input! She'd know her own sister much better than I could." With renewed energy, he flipped onto his stomach. Aches shot up through his muscles and he landed with small _puff!_ on his pillow and sheets. "Ow… Maybe I _should_ have gone with an easier routine," he muttered to himself, now sluggishly dragging himself from his crawl space.

Standing was not as bad an endeavor as he expected, especially with the drawer as support. He stretched his limbs and body out a bit, relieving some of the pain. As he leaned against the drawer, one of his hands touched a cold waterskin, which made the telltale rumbles of shifting ice. He instantly grabbed it and applied it to his arms, sighing as the aches began to fade.

A small tag with his name on it hung from the makeshift ice pack. "How thoughtful," he said to himself as he moved the waterskin to wherever else it was needed. As soon as the soreness became tolerable, he walked out and into the summer breeze.

The sky was clear and the sun shone gloriously over the meadow that was the campsite. The colorful wildflowers stood both to meet the rays and show off their dressings to the world. Birds all around sang their love songs, which seemed in tune with the swaying grass. It was the perfect time and place to brainstorm.

But then he spotted his friends all gathered around the active fire pit, partaking in a pot of breakfast. His stomach rumbled a bit and he had to agree that he'd much rather work on a full stomach, so he went to join them.

Francis looked up from his bowl, having been facing his direction as Flik drew closer. "Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty!" he announced, turning all other heads.

"Oh, how original!" Flik shouted back. He sat among them and grabbed an empty bowl to fill. "Good morning, everyone. What's for breakfast?"

"It's oatmeal," Rosie replied, and then pointed towards the rim of the fire pit. "Toppings are down there. We've got berries and honey."

"Sounds good." He helped himself to breakfast and began to dig in.

Gypsy nudged him a bit. "I see you've found the ice pack."

He nodded. "Yeah, it hit the spot. Thank you."

"Do try to keep track of your limits next time," she scolded him lightly.

He chuckled sheepishly. "Yes, _Mother_."

She rolled her eyes and nonchalantly added some honey to her bowl. "Don't sass me, young man. I may as well _be_ your mother." She looked very pleased, but gave way to worry. "So, you slept in today, too." She leaned toward him a bit. "You look a little pale. Are you all right?"

He paused, trying to figure out how to explain himself. "O-of course! I feel great, actually." A light went off in his head as he remembered a much more pressing and positive detail. "In fact, I'm excited to head to the registry!"

"We need to do one more soul check first," she reminded him.

"Right, right. When do we start?"

"After breakfast"—she gave him a stern eye—"when _everyone_ is satisfied."

Flik sighed and smiled wryly. "Okay, I get it." He adjusted his legs to keep them from falling asleep. His shoes tapped against the dirt and lightly kicked up dust.

Francis cleared his throat. "Now, where was I?"

"The big guy showed up?" Rosie chimed helpfully.

"Right! So, the whole ground shakes…"

As if Flik had been there all along, everyone resumed their breakfast and storytelling. Over time, chewing and listening became interactive chatter as bowls emptied and stomachs filled. The best part was when they started to play an impromptu game of "Best Advice," featuring whoever was down in the dumps. Today's star was Francis.

The feminine clown groaned in exasperation at the end of his latest tale. "Seriously! I didn't ask for this!" He gave his hair a light tug. "Should I just shave my head or somethin'?"

"Let's slow down a bit. You don't need a shave," Rosie said, getting up. She stepped around him, giving his head a few onceovers. "That straightened hair isn't doing you any favors. You might need a more messy style." With that, she began to ruffle his hair.

Francis reached up to stop her, only for his hands to be batted away. "Hey!"

"Hold still!"

Slim closed the pot and held his bowl as far away from them as he was able. "Rosie, you may want to work a little further away from the food."

"Ja," Heimlich agreed, "hair is not good vis zee oatmeal."

"I'm almost done." She combed through the hair, letting the tufts form layers. "Something's missing…" Bunching the longer, bottom tufts together behind Francis' head, she snapped her fingers. She quickly bound the tufts with silk into a ponytail. "Perfect! You're more boyish already."

"That's quite a difference," Slim said with a nod.

Heimlich clapped. "Vat do you sink everyone else looks like vis different shtyles?" he asked.

In their own curiosity, Tuck and Roll began to fiddle with each other's eyebrows: the only distinguishing mark between them. Whether or not they understood was a mystery, but they got the gist of what was going on.

Suddenly, Rosie had a glint in her eye, and the air went cold. "Excellent question, Heimlich. Why don't we all find out?"

Swiftly and a bit stiffly, Slim put his things down and stood. "Oh, would you look at the time. We'd best be heading off now."

"It's still morning," the silk dancer singsonged.

Francis took to the air before anyone could think to grab him. "And we have a lot to do with so little time." He started to fly off with Slim following behind.

Heimlich, getting whatever hint they gave off, lumbered after them. "Zee early bird gets zee vorm!" he called as all three shrank out of hearing range.

Rosie shook her head with a snort. "They could have at least put their dishes away," she said as she began picking up their disheveled bowls and put them into a wooden rack with a lid.

Manny added his bowl to the rack. "They are still boys," he commented, standing and dusting himself. He turned his head towards Flik, golden irises taking on a tired shade. "Are you ready for treatment, Flik?"

The mechanic sighed. "Ready as I'll ever be." He began to push himself up, but his arms were unsteady. "Eh… Just gimme a minute."

Gypsy hummed and stood. "Let's get it done out here," she suggested, removing her cloak and folding it up and setting it on the ground. "Rest your head."

Flik paused. "You sure?" At her nodding, he leaned back until he hit the makeshift pillow. "Thanks."

Manny sat himself down again. "It's not as comfortable as the couch, but it will do."

"That's fine."

Rosie whistled, catching Dim's attention. She attached the dish rack to his saddle once he reached her. "Well, we'll just be going. Tell me how it all turns out, okay?"

Gypsy knelt down by Flik's head. "Of course."

"Good." Rosie started away. "Tuck, Roll, come along!" she called, and they were gone.

Manny lifted his hands into the air, glowing an all-too-familiar green. "Are you ready, my boy?"

Flik nodded and closed his eyes. "Yep."

"Good, good, then let us begin."

In the darkness, all he could feel was the tendrils pulling at his heart again. Like a seamster meticulously spreading out a cloth, the magician's soul shaped his own. More empty spaces filled by thin sheets of healing and growing wisps. They were streams destined to become rivers.

Part of Flik had hoped this would be painless, but he guessed his luck had to run out some time. It went on the same as usual, but that irked him. He expected something to feel different, or to hear a comment about soul damage or healing. Nothing happened. It was as if the pain and completeness he felt around Princess Atta were imagined, a dream.

He apparently thought too soon, as a wisp brushed over a gash and he let out a choked cry.

"What's this?" Manny said more to himself than anyone else. His voice was tinged with pain, but it also held a hopeful curiosity.

"What do you see?" Gypsy asked.

"In… a moment," was all the magician could reply.

Only then did Flik notice that this therapy was lengthier than usual. Honestly, he wasn't sure how to feel about that. He was caught between being glad that more work could get done or uncomfortable with the increasing number of shockwaves.

Thankfully, it didn't last _much_ longer, and the pain ceased just as he started to worry about any progress. He didn't bother to open his eyes as it ended, preferring to just rest and get his heart back in order.

"Well, how did it go?" he heard Gypsy ask, an eager smile in her tone.

Manny took heavy breaths as usual, but they were much smoother. "It was the strangest thing," he told her. "The usual scarring has gone, and fresh wounds were just recently healed."

"Meaning?" the amnesiac asked, cracking an eye open.

The magician smiled at him. "Your soul may finally begin to heal on its own," he said, thoughtfully stroking his beard. "It still needs help, of course, but our therapies will soon be a thing of the past."

Flik perked up. "That's great! I was starting to think we'd never get past those." He pushed himself into sitting position. "So, you didn't find anything out of the ordinary?"

Manny quirked an eyebrow. "Did something happen?"

"No, no!" Flik vehemently shook his head. "It's just that we're going to the registry today. I don't want anything getting in the way of that."

The older man's gold eyes softened. "Ah, yes, understandable. Don't worry, we'll still go."

"You're certain nothing is wrong?" asked Gypsy. "You two looked very hurt for a moment."

"That could have been any time," Flik said, getting anxious. "I'm not out of the woods yet, but I'm getting there! That's the most important part, right?"

"It must have been a freshly healed wound," Manny explained, amused. "I hadn't seen it, but that may prove the boy's soul is becoming self-sufficient." He got up, leaning on his wife for support. "Now, shall we be off? Or do you need another moment?"

With a shake of his head, Flik slowly pushed himself up. He was still a bit sore, but it was bearable. "I think I'm good." He scarcely got to his knees before he heard soft flapping wings and felt two pairs of arms tugging at his own. "Hm?"

"Do you really want to walk the whole way?" Gypsy questioned with a giggle.

Well, if his limbs had anything to say about it… "I guess not." He felt all weight leave his bones and the three lifted off into the sky.

* * *

A rich chocolate scent wafted into Atta's face the moment she entered the kitchen and put on disposable gloves. "Dot? I'm here," she announced, searching the empty room for her sister.

The gigantic space was lined with enough stoves and ovens to bring out a festive feast within hours, as well as enough sinks to clean everything within minutes. Utensils hung from the walls and ceilings in their own armory, from the largest knife to the smallest fork. In the middle of the room was an armada of moving tables, used for anything from food preparation to serving, all in rows of three.

On the farthest table from her, she spotted a three tiers of a chocolate cake and a small hand waving from behind them. "Over here!" her sister's cheerful voice called. The hand was followed by the lilac head, with a smile just as bright. "Took you long enough! Let's get started!"

Atta eyed the bowls of white frosting, chocolate shavings, cherries, whipped cream, and even blue flowers strewn about the cake. "Are you trying to decorate?" She tied on a clean white apron.

Dot nodded vehemently. "Mm-hm! You have a good eye for this stuff, right?" she grabbed the board with the largest tier, trying to lift it to the turntable. "And Mom said… you weren't feeling good. Maybe this'll cheer you... up!"

The elder princess rolled her eyes as she helped her place the cake tier. "So, I wouldn't be here if Mother didn't suggest it?" she teased, smirking at her sister's pout.

"That's not what I meant!"

"I know, I know." Frosting spatula in hand, she got to work. It was, thankfully, not too far from painting with a wide brush. "Thank you. Really. I needed to get out."

"That's what sisters are for, right?" Dot said, placing the second tier on a smaller turntable to work on.

"Yes, that's right." Absentmindedly, Atta spread the frosting evenly over the tier. She found herself gazing at the decorative flowers and noted the shade. "Dot, who is this cake for?" she asked, but she was certain she already knew the answer.

"For Flik."

Knew it. "Didn't you just meet him?"

"Well, it's his birthday today and his friends wanted to throw a party," the little princess prattled on, "but the bakery wouldn't make any more cakes. That's okay, because we'll make a better one."

Atta nodded, but she was more focused on wondering why Mother hadn't said anything to Dot. The Queen must have asked why she wanted a cake; and if she knew, she knew better than to let Atta help. She wanted to ask, but maybe it was best not to say anything. If her mother didn't know now, she wouldn't want her to find out. The less she hinted that she _knew_ Flik, the better it was for the both of them.

Besides, it was kind of nice to do something for him from afar for once.

Just as a wry, knowing smile graced her face, Atta took a good look at the blue flowers again. Her breath hitched once she recognized them. "These flowers might be in poor taste," she muttered as she fixed the blossoms with a glare.

Of course, Dot was none the wiser. "Hm? The gardener told me they were edible."

"I mean, they are forget-me-nots."

A pained expression fell on the small princess. "Oh… really?" The turntable stopped as she looked at the forget-me-nots. "I guess we can leave them out."

"It's for the best," Atta assured her, brushing the flowers as far from the cake as she could. Even if Flik couldn't recognize them, or was too grateful to be bothered, his friends might think them insensitive. It wasn't thoughtful to give forget-me-nots to someone afflicted by Dying Memory.

After all, the memories were gone, not simply hidden.

 _"I'll never forget you."_

Blinking, she tapped at her temple, if only to knock away the memory. That was simply a heartfelt farewell and nothing more. It was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone, but now it sounded so off...

...so _wrong_.

Could he make promises he already broke?

She furiously shook her head. Now wasn't the time for that. "I'm sure there are other blue flowers we can use." Borage was the first to come to mind, but they tasted like the cucumbers that Anterrians generally hated. Chicory was beautiful, but might be too bitter. "Cornflower sounds good," she thought aloud. "Or pansies. I think pansy will look the best." She would have to search up the meaning some time.

Dot perked up and put down her spatula. "Pansies, then!" She rushed to the door to request the blooms from a passing servant. It was but a few moments before she came back. "Atta, did you finish the bottom part yet?"

"Almost." She needed another layer of frosting. "How will we decorate it?"

"Like this." Her sister took some chocolate shavings and blanketed them all over the bottom tier. "I had the baker make a black forest cake, because who doesn't love chocolate and berries?" she explained with a grin. "The flowers are gonna add a little more color to it."

Atta raised an incredulous brow. "That's a bit fancy for a… a clown, don't you think?"

"What do you mean? I'm keeping it simple," Dot said innocently, as expected of a child surrounded by wealth. Suddenly, she dropped her fistful of chocolate shavings and gasped. "I forgot the blueberries!" She ran to the door again to call down another servant.

The elder princess rolled her eyes and put down the spatula to finish the job. She wondered how his— _Flik's_ —face would look upon seeing the cake. He must be used to the simpler, blank ones from smaller bakeries, and that was assuming the circus paid him. The idea of him beholding the luxurious monstrosity left her with a giggle. She could already picture him having to stand up to blow out the candles, cheered by his friends.

Friends. That meant he was in good hands.

Announced by the clacking of heels against tile flooring, the small princess came back with a small batch of blueberries. "Should these go on top or on the side?"

"We should probably finish covering the cake first," Atta replied, applying chocolate to the final bald spots of the bottom layer. "They might look nice on the edge with the cherries. Maybe two or three blueberries for every cherry." She emptied the turntable to make room for the last piece, covering it right away in fluffy cream.

"That sounds good," Dot agreed, getting to work blanketing the middle tier with chocolate. She was only a quarter of the way done when she paused. "I'm gonna miss this, you know?"

Taken aback, Atta accidentally put a dent in the frosting. "What?"

"The world is ending," Dot clarified. "That means you have to leave soon to save it, and we can't hang out anymore." She put the chocolate down, rubbing her face on her sleeve. "You won't forget about me, right?"

Atta couldn't hold back a giggle. "What are you talking about? I'll never—"

 _"I'll never forget you."_

"Atta?"

She forced herself to breathe again. "I won't… I won't forget you, Dot," she promised, painting on a grin. "I'll bring a copy of our family portrait with me, okay?"

Dot eyes brightened. "And I'll keep my copy, too! That way, I won't forget your face." Having just finished dusting the middle layer in chocolate, she carefully placed it atop the bottom tier. "What else are you gonna bring?"

Atta bit the inside of her cheek. No one knew what happened at the Middle Ground, what sacrifices took place. If she took her most precious possessions, they could be destroyed. Up until today, she hadn't planned on taking anything with her.

But Dot was too young to learn about that.

"I have a month to decide, but…" It was so little time. Maybe even a year would be too short.

"Are you gonna take your music box?" Dot asked hopefully.

It was no secret that the younger princess was fond of the box, if only because she might sense the heart and soul put into it. Maybe it was better to leave the box with her. She would take very good care of it, and it wouldn't be destroyed or left to rot on the floating island. The tune inside could be passed down as a lullaby as well. It could very well be one of the best ways to preserve a keepsake: as an heirloom or precious artifact.

Though Atta knew this, she could not bear to part with it. "I suppose I would take it."

"Oh…" Still, the youngest princess didn't seem too disappointed. "Then can we listen to it before you go? I want to remember the song, and then it'll be like you're still here when I hum it." She clapped her hands together, signalling a brilliant idea. "I can even call it 'Atta's Lullaby!'"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I have a better name." Absently, Atta reached for the abandoned forget-me-nots. The star-shaped blossoms seemed to twinkle, much like last night's stars, in anticipation of a wish. Or was it a promise already in pieces?

 _"What do you think?"_

 _"Love. That's all I felt from it."_

"'Love,' huh?"

* * *

Before his eyes was a giant tree. The brown stone trunk towered so high and wide that he had to crane his neck to see any sky. The very width rivaled the common mansion and any garden expansions, maybe even half of the castle itself. Large trunks decorated with leaves and vines formed a canopy over the ground beneath, almost as if it was night there. At the bottom of the trunk was a pair of doors that appeared overgrown with vines as well, complete with door knockers that looked like mandibles. Everything gave this tree a sense of age and wisdom.

"Is this the registry?" Flik pondered aloud.

"It isn't," Manny replied.

Bewildered, Flik whipped around. "Then where are we?"

"Well, we are _at_ the registry, but you weren't looking _at_ it," the magician explained, a flash of mischief in his golden eyes. "The trunk and branches serve as the library, but the registry is where the roots are." His gaze went to the ground.

The amnesiac followed, letting out a shuddering breath. "As if this place needed to be any bigger…" The worst part was that he couldn't see how big the registry actually was. He started to doubt he would find his past today.

Yet the challenge did not compare to his excitement. If he did find it by some miracle, was he ready to learn about it? Oh, he wanted to know so badly, but actually reading it in front of him would be a different story. He had to prepare for the worst. His heart pounded as he tried conjuring up what the _worst_ would be.

Gypsy took one of his hands, which had been clenched. "Flik, are you _absolutely_ sure about this?" Her magenta eyes quivered with worry. "If you aren't ready, we can come back later, maybe even have the whole group behind you."

He shook his head quickly. "No, no, I'm fine," he insisted, albeit uneasily. "We're already here. Whatever happens, I can handle it." To emphasize, he straightened his back and puffed up his chest. "Let's go." He grabbed a knocker and pulled its door open.

Beyond it was a large room that looked carved from the inside of a tree. It was round, lined with lamps topped with golden carved leaves, and stairwells were on both sides. It was dark, save for the light from the windows on the wall behind, as well as the flickers from the lamps. Despite its size, the lobby was very sparsely decorated: having rows of chairs for waiting patrons, a few landscape paintings here and there, and a single large black desk manned by only one.

And Flik recognized the librarian. "Hey! You're the guy from the square!" the mechanic blurted, soon cringing at his volume in the lobby.

The man—Mr. Soil, if he remembered correctly—was just as surprised. "And you're the clown," he responded bewilderedly. In a moment, he cleared his throat. "I take it you've come to learn about your past."

"How did you know?"

"You were quite hopeful when you thought I recognized you. Seeing as you're here, it's only a natural assumption." He returned to his work, only peeking up to speak. "Now, what was it you were suffering from?"

"It's Dying Memory. Well, the after effects," Flik blurted, smacking a palm to his face over how quickly the words got out. He began to fidget. "Ever since I woke up, I've wanted to know who I was and what happened that left me outside the town. I know I didn't pop out of thin air, so that's why I'm here."

"I see you've put a lot of thought into this," said the librarian, still wary but accepting. Taking a sheet from his desk, he pushed it towards his guest. "And you're aware of the risks of such a revisit?"

Flik perked up. "Definitely!" he answered, skimming what he found to be a form documenting his visit. He filled it without a second thought. "I'm prepared for the worst."

"I suppose there's no reason to turn you away." Soil took the finished sheet and put it away. "Let us be off. Your caretakers may wait here." He rang a bell, summoning a woman to take over the desk, before making his way to the stairwell on the left.

Taking a deep breath, the amnesiac steeled himself. He felt unsteady, insecure. Everything was going to change as soon as he found out about his past. No matter how many of the worst scenarios he came up with—a heinous criminal, the last of his people, an orphan from another kingdom—he never felt prepared. What would he think? What would his friends think? Or Princess Atta—No, she would never know.

His foot hit the top step and he paused. The stairwell seemed to darken despite the candles dutifully lighting the way. Was this a registry or a mausoleum? Was he just a ghost looking for his grave?

"Flik," Gypsy called and time started moving again, "it'll be all right. We're here for you."

"You're ready," Manny added.

They were right. Everything the troupe did for him led up to moments like this. Now that he knew how it felt to finally reach the next stage, it would be a waste to back out. He descended.

The stairwell was narrow, only able to fit one person between its walls. The air was too warm, perhaps due to the candles lining the outer wall. The flames flickered and pulsed like curious ghosts watching librarian and guest, bouncing rhythmically to the sounds of shoes tapping against the stone steps. It was otherwise too quiet, but Flik couldn't bring himself to say a word. Whether it was nervousness or out of respect for the records laid to rest, he didn't care to know.

Yellow-orange light gave way to a soft rainbow at the bottom of the stairs, catching his eyes. Soon, he was no longer stepping down, but rather through an entrance into what he could only describe as a séance room. The walls were covered in dark curtains, the only pieces of furniture were a round table and a cushioned chair, and above the table floated a large, humming gem shaped and faceted like a diamond. Said gem was the source of the colorful light, the hues on its surface changing like waves.

"Please have a seat," Soil said, breaking the quiet. "This will be quick."

'So, what is all this?" Flik asked as he sat down.

"I assume you don't know your own birthday?" asked the librarian. "This crystal is designed to examine your soul and determine that very thing. Our records are all filed under dates of birth, so it will narrow the search considerably."

"How does it work?"

"It simply needs a sample of your soul."

At that, Flik grew wary. "A… sample? You mean it'll take a piece of me?"

"It's quite harmless and the chip will grow back in time, naturally. You have nothing to worry about," Soil assured him. "I assume you have been treated for your Dying Memory?"

"Of course, I have."

"The procedure isn't so different. Shall we begin?"

The amnesiac took a deep breath, steeling himself; and he nodded, closing his eyes as he heard the gem hum. He watched as smoke evaporated off the crystal, gathering into wisps that flowed towards him. Already, he could hear Manny telling him to close his eyes, but nobody could cover them nor admonish him for keeping them open. Curiosity kept his gaze on the wisps, even as they disappeared into his chest.

He pinpointed the moment when the familiar sting sprang up.

Flik choked as his hands gripped the armrests, trying not to curl in on himself. His eyes squeezed shut, he bit his lip, and his breathing became ragged.

The tendrils did not waver, trailing over unseen tender wounds without the gentleness only a person could provide. They were prodding, mainly around his heart, until he heard a soft _clink!_ and felt a sharp sting. The wisps quickly retreated, and he opened his eyes to see them disappear into the crystal with a pulsating shard.

He sighed in relief now that it was over, and he watched as words and numbers materialized on the gem's surface, arranging themselves into a date format. "One, four, sixty-three. Is that my birth date?" he asked, reading and re-reading the numbers over and over in his mind. "The month is first, right?"

"...yes, it is."

Flik didn't think much of the bewildered tone. He was too focused on the fact that his _birth date_ , the very first thing he learned about himself, was right before his eyes! "I was born in the winter, not summer at all," he muttered, fidgeting with excitement. "And that year… I'm nineteen! No one can say I'm five anymore!" He laughed giddily and jumped to his feet, only for a shock in his chest to bring him back down. "Ouch… Guess I got a little too excited there."

"That hurt you." It didn't sound like a question.

"Oh, it's no big deal. It's been that way for as long as I can remember."

It did nothing to ease the tension. "You're unstable." Again, a statement. "And you said you were treated by Dying Memory?"

"...yeah." The amnesiac noted the odd choice of words. "Why?"

Soil was horrified, and he grabbed the table to support himself. "This shouldn't be possible." He continued to stare as if he saw a ghost. "You must leave. Go home, rest, be anywhere but here."

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, but Flik was still taken aback by the man's urgency. "What? No, I can't leave yet," he said, gripping the armrests. "I know it looks bad—"

"You should thank your lucky stars that you can stand at all," Soil interrupted. "If even that spell couldn't help you, I shudder to think of what a hard truth will do." Now he didn't make sense at all.

"Hold on, what do you mean by 'help?'" Flik questioned. "Isn't Dying Memory the cause of all this?"

The librarian quirked an eyebrow. "Your guardians never told you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose with a frustrated sigh. "Tell me, what _do_ you know about the spell?"

"Only that it erases memories."

"But you don't know _why_." Soil was somber, guilty even. He looked a lot like Manny did when he was about to tell a difficult truth. "Then I will explain. You deserve at least that much." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Despite its dreadful name, Dying Memory is not meant to be a malicious spell. Its main purpose is to help someone move on: whether from a guilt-ridden life of crime or from severe trauma. Even then, we only allow it as a last resort." Seeming uncertain, in both gaze and voice, Soil continued: "It only works when both caster and recipient agree to it."

Flik didn't know what to think, except that he didn't want to believe it. "That can't be right. I would never want that." He stood, forgetting the aches, his hands grabbing his head as he started to pace. "What about all the good times I had? Family? Friends?" His blood ran cold and he stopped. "A lover? Why would I want to forget them?"

"I'm afraid that is only for your past self to know," Soil said sympathetically. "All I can guess is that you experienced a far greater trauma than could be fixed. For that, I am deeply sorry." He was sincere for once, and that troubled Flik. "The couple who came with you seem to care for you. Aren't you happy with them?"

"Y-yes, but—"

"Then you have all you need to move on, just as the spell intended." He gave the amnesiac an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Now, let's get you back to them."

"Wait a second." Flik pulled away. "You can't help me at all?"

Soil's politeness slipped slightly. "If you want to risk harming yourself further, I want no part of it."

"Okay, then nothing specific! How about…"

 _"Names are so much more than labels,"_ Princess Atta had told him. _"Your feelings, your hopes, and everything around you can influence the choice."_

"Yeah, that should work. It can just be the first name," he muttered, his hands switching between tapping his chin or pretending to pass the idea between them. "I'm sure I can at least know that without relapsing. Might not help me right, but if someone knows both face and name then I'll finally get somewhere." He grinned and straightened. "It's perfect!"

Mr. Soil was taken aback. "What?"

"You can tell me what my name is, right?" Flik chirped, not fazed by the other's confusion. "It should be vague enough. I bet it's not even that special. So, uh, please?"

Thankfully, the man seemed to seriously consider it. The more time passed, the more he accepted the idea, until he started to nod. "I suppose that would be all right," he conceded slowly. "Just your name?"

"That's it."

Soil nodded, albeit still grim. "Very well. Wait here while I retrieve your records." He jolted a bit, hurriedly adding: "That is, if you were a citizen here."

"I'm not going, too?"

"We have many sensitive records. It's a matter of privacy," said the librarian stiffly. "Not to mention you could get lost."

Flik wanted to object, but held his tongue. He was already trying this man's patience as it was. "Can I… read the name for myself?"

"Nothing more." With that, the man finally left his side. He walked to the portion of the room opposite the entrance, pulling back the curtains to reveal a black door decorated with a leaf-shaped scroll.

A single wave later, the insignia glowed a matching green and released its own wisps.

He was a ways away, but Flik couldn't help the shiver as he witnessed the wisps surround Soil, reading through him while he barely flinched. The tendrils weaved through him, prodding at times, even going as far as to take a piece of his soul and retreat into the scroll. He stayed still all the while, like they were nothing but smoke.

Harmless.

The phantom stings which hadn't subsided yet only emphasized the contrast, keeping it fresh even after the reading stopped and the librarian left the room. No one else dealt with them; even Manny's pain during the therapies was because of Flik. It never occurred to him that he wasn't supposed to _be_ in pain, or that Dying Memory was supposed to fix it.

And he asked for it.

His brain crammed with questions, quaking just as much as his heart was. Everything he learned about the curse clashed with his own life. He was supposed to start his life over, but he was abandoned outside of town and with no clue how to start. Granted, his friends found him and took him in, but what if they hadn't? The spell would have been for nothing, and maybe it still was.

" _Ahem._ " The noise stopped his pacing a trench into the floor, and he saw Soil holding a rather thin book tightly in his hands. "It appears you were a citizen." His brows furrowed as he opened the book towards himself, skimming the very first page before giving him an almost pleading look. "Are you sure you want to know? I must warn you: you won't like what you see."

Flik eyed the book impatiently, knowing his name was within reach. He was sure he could handle a mediocre or even a terrible name. Someone must have put thought into it, and that was what mattered. "Show me."

Resigned, the librarian turned the book around.

The page was spare, only containing a head portrait of Flik's younger self and two lines beneath. The first thing he noticed was that his appearance didn't change much, though his past self apparently had a neat ponytail as opposed to his current wings. Next, he saw his date of birth, and it still gave him shivers to finally know it. But then he got to his name, and he stopped with a gasp. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly, reading everything clearly. Everything else was clear; his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

Throughout his waking life, he wondered what his past had been like, including the worst case scenarios. He could accept being some criminal, a sole survivor, an unlucky stumbler, or even someone who never had a family. Learning his real name should have been a walk in the park. It would have been, but that line on the page was _blank_.


End file.
